Snowdrop
by K.M.Benidir2012
Summary: The creature was grasping onto what little hope he had left. A chance encounter with Georgia Daniels gives him the strength to live and love. But something dark in Georgia's past threatens his chance at love and could cost him everything- her life and his sanity. ***Be sure to leave a review!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The regret was instantaneous. The moment he felt the life go out of Henry Clerval he had felt no better. Fury coursed through him as did the horror of his deed. It could not be undone, but at the same time, he wondered if his regret now would be enough to prevent him from committing yet another crime. He released the body; the lifeless thud of Frankenstein's dearest friend did little to abate the shame he now felt welling up with his breast. But he had sent a message to his father. This is the price Frankenstein would pay for betraying his one request.

Bending over the fallen corpse, the creature further studied Henry. What could have propelled this man to convince his father to betray him? Had the wickedness of humanity been so strong that the entirety of its species was convinced that he should suffer? What living woman would take him? He needed one like himself. The creature's hands clenched up into fists; he meant to strike Henry and wanted to until the face of this beloved friend of Victor's could no longer be recognized.

All he wanted was love, to give it freely and receive it freely. He was cursed in this life, cursed with unyielding loneliness and ugliness. Anger swelled up in him, pushing away the regret. Frankenstein had to know what he felt.

"If you will not give me a mate, father," he murmured to the darkness, traces of pain feathered his voice; "I will take yours." His promise was heavy and he felt the weight of it once the words fell from his lips. Summoning all of his rage and courage, he left the lifeless body of Henry Clerval behind in the forest and marched on.

The creature spent days wandering the forest, casually watching the Frankensteins mourning their friend. Weary and lonely, the creature also mourned his own loss, the loss of his red haired mate. She was a beacon of beauty and hope for him, and she was gone. There was nothing he could do to stop the crying, his tears were like rivers bursting through old dams, unquenchable and relentless. Sobs rocked through his body as he clutched himself. What a woman she could have been! All he had desired was her. His one request to his damnable father.

When the creature's large form wasn't bent over his tear stained books he would search the nearby forests for flowers and fruit to delight him. It was all he could do to taper his fury, all he could do to forget. And he did want to forget. The nameless creature wanted to forget the muffled cries of little William whom his great strength had not meant to crush. More than anything he wanted to forget the awful rejection of the De Laceys. He had meant no harm to them and he still didn't. If they came after him, whether good or ill, he would run to them like a dog at the sight of its master. Yes, he was no more than a dog, he mused sadly.

Searching the woods he found clusters of white flowers, small and sad, they seemed to call out to him. He picked a handful of them and pressed them close to his ashy nose. Refreshing was what they smelled like. It was like drinking from a spring, his very first drink in this cruel world. Examining the flowers he realized that the drooping beauties were snowdrops. Signs of good fortune, _how ironic_. But he could not toss them aside. A small part of him still hoped when he should not have, but he could not seem to lose it.

The creature cried in despair before smothering his face into the sad blossoms. He let their powers work through his veins as he took in each breath. Would his mate have liked the blooms? Would she have liked flowers? He begged the flowers with each quivering breath to set him free but their only answer to him was the wilting of their beauty. At this, he mourned. Was he banned from all beauty? No, he thought sadly, he would have to be delicate with it.

The fire kindling in his heart began to steadily dissipate as he sat on the forest floor reveling in the snowdrops. He could forget Victor. He could forget and simply love his flowers. He could have beauty and never lose it.

"Miss Daniels! Miss Daniels! Oh, where has she gone! It's not safe out here!" Cried a woman.

The creature straightened instantly. Like a frightened deer, he was ready to bolt. He listened closely for the woman to cry out again. North. She was north of him and only half a mile away. Blood drained from the creature's face, he was too close to them and he had not heard Miss Daniels reply. His father endowed him with suburb hearing and eyesight, gifts he was grateful for since they provided so much protection for him. As such, he presumed that Miss Daniels was much closer to him than he would have liked and that she must not have heard the woman calling her.

"Nettie, I will be back in a moment!" Cried Miss Daniels in response.

Dear God, thought the creature, she was only a yard or two from his refuge. Quickly, he discarded his bundle and left the flowers in a shriveled mess as he retreated to the denser part of the woods. How had he not heard the girl? He shuddered at the thought of her screams if she had found him. If she had not responded his ears would have been filled with her cries. So much for his hearing, he thought bitterly.

What compelled him to remain when he should have fled, he could not say. Curiosity perhaps? He wanted to know why Miss Daniels had wandered off and what she was doing alone. In truth, he wanted to see her; and he wanted to know what he would do when he saw her.

"Georgia! Please, come back!" Nettie was becoming desperate in her pleas.

"Can a lady not take time to herself to stretch and relieve herself!" Muttered Georgia Daniels to herself as she arrived at the creatures small piece of heaven.

Red, all he saw was red. But it was not from fury or rage or even hatred, although he did hate her the moment he saw her. Russet, wavy hair was pinned into a thick bun at the nape of her neck in the fashion of women in a time now past. Braids helped secure loose strands of hair. If raven locks replaced her russet color she would have mirrored the Grecian women the creature had seen drawings of. But Georgia was different from the women he had seen before. She wasn't poor or simple like Agatha and Justine, nor were her clothes dark. She was clad in a yellow and green frock and cloaked in a patterned shawl.

He did hate her, he hated her terribly, he hated the air of her look, the nobility and wealth of it. He hated her strange accent which further ostracized her in his mind as a foreigner. He hated her because she was beautiful and in his garden. The creature stared at her through the protective trees and hated how the sun-beams fell over her pale face brushed with freckles.

"Miss Daniels," came the plea for her once more. This time, however, it was a man that called her. "I'm bringing the gun!"

The creature cringed, remembering the bullet still lodged in his arm from his earnest efforts to save a girl from drowning. He did not want to get shot again.

"I'm alrig-" Georgia stopped speaking and moving as she spoke. Her emerald eyes had caught hold of the rubble he had left in his wake. She paled and slowly began backing up. Fear flushed over her features, she was caught between the desire to bolt into the woods and dread of moving.

"MISS DANIELS!" Shouted another man.

"Sir John! I am coming!" With that she fled, crushing a cluster of snowdrops as she did.

She was gone and the creature felt his body relax. He waited a moment before returning to the flowers and surveying the damage caused by Miss Daniels' careless steps. He heard her running before hearing the relieved cries of her companions. With her safely away from him, the creature wandered back to his cave and books.

"At least you didn't see me," he whispered mournfully to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**I realized that I did not leave any type of note in the previous chapter. This story is a compound of Hallmark's Frankenstein with Luke Goss (those elements belong to them), Mary Shelly's work (which is public domain), and my own imagination (which belongs to me and my amazing readers- thanks for putting up with me.)**

 **This chapter was updated on 2/18/2016**

Chapter 2

Georgia settled uncomfortably on the leather chaise in Sir John Lafoy's expansive parlor. Two minutes in and the verbal berating she was receiving from Sir John and Nettie was already agitating her. She suffered further discomfort when she realized she had forgotten to relieve herself in the forest. Truly, though, she could not help, not when she saw the crushed flowers. Dread had filled her and she'd completely forgotten her original purpose in wandering off. All she wanted was a little bit a privacy but felt none. Someone was certainly watching her in the woods.

"Georgia, pay attention," chided Sir John. He was an older man, just a few years older than her father, whose soft brown hair was beginning to turn white and frayed around his narrow head. He looked relaxed dressed in cotton trousers and shirt. The rigors of his status were momentarily hidden away: he was preparing for a hunt from what Georgia could tell. "Stay close to the estate, never wander off alone. This is not a request, it is an order. You do not know this area enough to survive being lost in it. The woods are not safe."

"The monster the villagers mentioned? Is it there in the woods?" Curiosity made her forget her manners, but Sir John was always kind enough to answer her questions no matter how silly they were. She blushed at the look he gave her, the silent chiding, she knew the look too well.

"Miss Georgia, there are no such things as monsters. Nevertheless, the woods are not a place for a young lady to be wandering about. Clean yourself up and practice your music until supper. I won't be back for a few days. Stay out of trouble." With that, he turned away from her and went to the mud room.

Delighted to be free, Georgia ran to the outhouse. Unwilling to return to the parlor and begin playing Sir John's piano, Georgia decided to take a walk. Sir John's instructions played loudly in her head, she kept close to the tree line, remaining vigilant and ever watchful. Or was it just plain suspicion? On her second lap around the house, she noticed the keen eyes of the servants following her. Would it always be so? Did they fear for her or fear in general? It was certainly stranger here than anywhere else she had been, there was a quiet dreariness here, even the skies seemed mellow and unhappy.

As she walked, Georgia stretched out her long fingers and moved them as if warming them up for the music they would soon play. Notes swirled in her head as she composed the scene around her in her mind. The melody that played was simple and lackluster but sprinkled with bits of magic as she liked to call it. Dull as it was, the young woman found that there was something unearthly about the world around her, something that longed to be composed.

A russet curl escaped her bun and as she twisted in with the rest she could not help but smile; this world was like the forest and the field of snowdrops: bleak but peppered with beauty. She would have to find a way to compose them. Satisfied with her mental work, she raced back into the large house and opened the piano. Her fingers slid over the piano keys like water over stone. The creative spark in her was alive and well, and it demanded much from her. She was desperate to keep pace with the notes, hearing them and writing them out, but they were quick and unrelenting. Before she knew it, the sun had set and supper was served and her music was to be stopped for a moment.

"That was a pleasant piece you were working on, miss," declared Nettie. The two of them sat in a small, but well-lit room where they were enjoying their supper. With Sir John out of the house, Georgia was free to dine as she pleased and with whom she pleased.

Nettie had always been by her side and always would be, so Georgia hoped anyway, and Nettie readily affirmed this idea. She babbled on about the man Georgia would someday marry, he would never be able to separate them. She promised Georgia that she would also serve as the nurse to Georgia's children. They were happy together, more like sisters than servant and mistress.

"It is a bit drab, I think. Something doesn't sound quite right," Georgia replied with a frown.

Nettie shrugged. "It's the countermelody, miss, if you don't mind me saying. Drop the pitch."

Before she could stop herself, Georgia burst out laughing. "Dearest Nettie, I am surprised. When did you learn so much about music?"

Nettie blushed. "Pardon me, miss."

"Nonsense! Nettie, I merely impressed. Stop calling me 'miss', no one is here."

"I didn't want the other servants thinking me rude. I learned the music from you. Never seen a child as devoted as you. Shame there are so many restrictions you must adhere too. I mean, a young woman such as yourself, so full of passion but forced to suppress it."

"There are restrictions on all of us, Nettie. Sir John has gone to the Frankensteins for a few days, I think he means to introduce me to them. I intend to complete my piece for them."

Nettie tutted. "As much sorrow as that family has had to endure lately, I am sure they will welcome your talents. I hear that their Miss Elizabeth is quite an accomplished painter."

The women continued their evening laughing and talking and eating. When they finished their meal, Georgia invited the servants into Sir John's parlor where she entertained them with a series of short, lively tunes. It wasn't until late in the night that Georgia and the servants retired to their rooms. Giddy from their evening, Georgia hummed to herself in the comfort of her bedroom. She stepped out of her frock and stripped down the layers of her undergarments before donning a plain sleeping gown. Before her vanity, she unclipped her hair and gently combed the red strands. Once finished with her nightly ritual, she blew out the candles spaced throughout her room and dared one wistful glance out her bedroom window towards the forest. She was blissfully ignorant of the intense gaze watching her in secret, hidden by the hedges of the estate's gardens.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter updated 2/18/16**

A musician! Like the patriarch of the De Lacey family, he continued to mourn. His woes knew no end. The vile creation of Frankenstein fled the home of Miss Daniels after he caught the marvelous sight of her night spectacle. It was his desire to be a gentleman and not the monster he was created to be that made him tear away his gaze. The beauty of women was undeniable, but they were far too beautiful to be gawked at like meat pies in a bar. If Frankenstein had been true to his word he could have shown his mate just how gentlemanly he was.

It was well past midnight by the time he left the estate which was, in comparison, much smaller than that of his father's. But Miss Daniels' home was richer in decoration and liveliness. The lack of the latter in the Frankenstein household, however, was his fault. The murder of a child and his nanny was more than enough to destroy a family. The creature was still not sure if this was something he was proud of.

Weathered boots struck the ground as his large form marched the new trail back to his hideout. The old, tattered grey cloak he wore flapped in the breeze created by his swift movements. Each step took him further away from potential heartache, and closer to the complete undoing of himself. It was a vital necessity for him to be as far from Georgia as possible. She could never see him, let alone learn about him. When the thought of her smile filled his mind he grew angry before he stopped on his journey to cry the bitter tears that always came as a result of his loneliness.

Just as he had been drawn to Justine, the creature felt drawn to Georgia, but he knew better than to give in. If she beheld him the look of utter terror from her would kill him, just as his appearance would surely kill her. In the end, he resolved not to return to that estate, he would not seek out Miss Daniels. Instead, his thoughts turned darker: he would complete his quest for vengeance. If he could not have love, then he would take it from the person who denied it to him.

A week had passed since the creature was nearly discovered by Georgia and a week since he had stalked Victor Frankenstein. During his holiday from hate and longing, he spent his time seething by a brook and washing and what few clothes he possessed. The water was cool as it passed over his long frame as he bathed, but he could endure the chill, another gift from his father. His stretched skin grew grey in the chill. He longed for the joy of a warm bath and pondered how his sutured skin would respond to the temperature. Would the redness finally fade or would he develop a hue that didn't make him look so dead?

In two weeks he would return to his stream to rinse his filth and revive his shattered soul. He was glad he was not like humans: he did not perspire the way they did, nor did he produce as much oil on his body as they did, and the foulness of their natural odors could not be counted as one of his traits. He was bound to his ugly form, but he was far cleaner than most humans and required less work to get that way.

But the intermittence was over and he once again found himself fuming about his father. As the sun rose over the house of Frankenstein the creature crept close but remained hidden in the treeline. His peckish eyes searched for his prey but instead found a creature he hadn't expected. Bursting from the Frankenstein house with her arm locked around the would-be wife of Victor was Georgia. She laughed, ignorant of Elizabeth's quiet reserve, and looked so blissfully innocent. He felt his body go rigid as he watched the two women walk out onto the lawn. Rage and jealousy welled up in him, but the emotions would not remain alone for he soon felt the bitter sting of hurt and sorrow. Her laughter would never be directed towards him, not unless it was in the form of scorn and jeering.

Frankenstein did not deserve her! He deserved none of the women dwelling in his house, least of all the jovial Georgia. How could his father deny his one request and then have a girl with the same colored hair as his ill-begotten lover as one of his guests? The creature trembled in rage, vowing to undo Frankenstein once more. Grey gave way to blotchy red as his anger seethed; had any soul ever known the rage that he felt?

"Oh, Miss Elizabeth, you must read it!" Cried Georgia. "I feel that I am quite like Marianne Dashwood. And, you, dear Elizabeth, are like Elinor, her older sister. Do I sound brash, Miss Elizabeth?" Georgia frowned briefly and managed to restrict her movements. The creature frowned in disapproval at her sudden change in demeanor as he watched them at a careful distance.

Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "Nonsense," she replied. "Forgive me. I am trying to be cheerful, but we have lost so much. You are so pleasant, but I am afraid that I cannot be."

Georgia paused for a moment, contemplating her next move. She certainly knew loss, it was a constant and sure companion."One of Miss Austen's clever books will cheer you up. Sense and Sensibility is the best to start with." Georgia's bright countenance returned once more. "I met her once. Miss Austen, I mean. When I was sixteen."

A burst of laughter found its way out of Elizabeth. Alfonse Frankenstein, Victor's father, heard the sound from the other end of the lawn and grinned widely. The happiness of his children, the sound of their laughter, and the jovial existence of life was all that he yearned and hoped for. To hear his adopted daughter laugh after so many tears solidified his resolve to keep Georgia Daniels close to his family. At once, he turned back towards his home to fetch a servant. He would write to Sir John, imploring him to let Georgia stay awhile longer, at least until Victor and Elizabeth were finally married.

"I believe it, Miss Georgia," stated Elizabeth in a fit of delighted laughter.

Together the women made several laps around the manor, sometimes speaking and sometimes laughing. Georgia asked Elizabeth about her painting and sketches and made an ardent request to see her work. They celebrated their talents as they disappeared for yet another lap. The creature watched them walk away once more before departing. He would have to find the book Georgia spoke of. Despite his better judgement, he had to know why she was so cheerful and what book could inspire so much passion in a young woman. He needed to understand her. He needed her.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter was edited 2/21/2016**

Alfonse Frankenstein cried with delight when Sir John sent Georgia's servant, Nettie, to his home along with a trunk of clothes for Georgia. "Miss Daniels!" He laughed as Georgia descended the steps for breakfast. "You're to stay here for two months! We are so delighted. I've even taken the liberty to arrange another room for you, one with a piano, and it opens out to the patio! I think you will be quite comfortable there and at leisure to practice your music when you please."

"Mr. Frankenstein," she said coming towards him. "Truly, you are a dear friend. My father would have been so pleased to know that I have such good friends. Please, this is Nettie." Georgia gestured to her shy friend and confidant. "She's been with me my whole life, like an elder sister."

The mirth in Alfonse's eyes faltered briefly. "Like our dear Justine," he muttered. "Eat and then we will get you settled. Miss Nettie, do you play cards?"

Nettie blushed but nodded. It had been years since anyone had addressed her in such a manner. Perhaps she would not be too cruel in their evening game of cards, she might let him win.

Evening came much quicker than they realized and supper was served at nightfall. Alfonse would hear none of Nettie's protests and demanded that she dine with them. A full dining table, he told them, looked better than an empty one. Dinner began awkwardly as Georgia attempted to ask Victor about his studies in Ingolstadt.

"I've left the university," he replied curtly as he tossed back his dark blond hair. "It wasn't for me. Besides, I was needed here." After that, he would speak no more, not unless asked a direct question, something Georgia felt increasingly uncomfortable doing.

"Miss Daniels, how long have you been playing the piano?" Asked Alfonse.

"Since I was a small girl. My mother used to play and I always wanted something of hers that I could keep forever. Music seemed natural, like breathing and eating, and laughing."

"And your father approved of this?"

Georgia nodded. "Yes, sir. He always encouraged me. He used to say 'life is too short to waste it on occupations you do not love'. He worried I would be unhappy and I promised him that that could never be: it is against my nature to be unhappy."

Alfonse agreed and pressed further, trying to stimulate and facilitate conversation. "Do you miss Southampton? Your amiable friends?"

Georgia tucked a phantom strand of red hair behind her ear unconsciously. "Of course, but it was necessary for me to leave, at least for a while. I write to my friends, well, one, Mrs. Davenport. She one of the finest women in England; I miss her dearly. As does Nettie," she added with a knowing smile. "They played cards, often."

When dinner finished Victor whisked Elizabeth into the study where they spent the remainder of the evening chatting in private. Alfonse invited Nettie to a round of cards that involved several long hours of Nettie deliberately losing only to destroy Alfonse on the last hand. Georgia was greeted by their roaring laughter well into the night. Life in Geneva, especially the Frankenstein house, seemed so relaxed, so open. Her troubles in England seemed but a distant dream.

Georgia, however, was eager to return to her room and practice her music. Much to her delight, she found that few could hear her playing; she would disturb no one and they would not disturb her. Her fingers met the keys of the piano like a tender lover, learning once more the tender places to touch. In the dull light of the candles and hearth, Georgia hummed a slow melody as her fingers tapped out the lulling notes. Peace came to her through the music and through her books, they could almost make her forget.

With a jolt, Georgia accidently hit the wrong black key, disrupting the flow of her song. It was like a tear in the sky and caused Georgia to freeze. Her fingers hovered over the keys as the hairs on her body stood on end. In her chest, her heart thundered, the palpitations threatened to break her ribs. She wheezed in fear.

"I know you're there," she said in breathless fear. She was met with silence. "I-I knew you were there in the forest." Still, no answer came. She wanted to turn and catch him in the act, whoever he was, but she was frozen in fear. "Do you plan to kill me?" Her voice trembled ever so slightly, but she pushed her fear aside as best she could.

Her fingers trembled. If she screamed out, help would come, but judging by Victor's actions throughout her stay, no one in the Frankenstein household would ever taste freedom again.

Annoyed by the silence, she plucked up the courage to ask him more aggressively if he was going to kill her.

"— No."

Her heart skipped a beat and a scream began ascending in her throat. What creature bore that voice? The once soft and delicate timbre was now broken and cracked with an odd inflection. Would he say anything else?

"Why are you here?" Georgia's voice was barely a whisper.

She heard the sound of a crumpled parchment paper behind her. It hit the floor softly and came to rest at her feet. Slowly, she bent over and as the took hold of the paper, out of the corner of her eye she saw the shadow of a figure race from her patio. The piano stool fell over as she sprinted to the door, hoping to catch him. Like a bird in flight, the figure sailed over the lawn. His cloak billowed and flared as he ran, leaving her to speculate his true size. He was fast, and light on his feet. When he reached the tree line he stopped and turned back to her. He was too far for her to truly see him, but she knew he was looking at her. He lingered only a second before disappearing into the night.

Left with the aftermath of her fear and crinkled parchment, Georgia convinced herself to shut the patio door and close her piano for the night. When she finally felt relaxed enough to sleep she opened the parchment to find that it was a tattered sheet of music belonging to a larger piece. She hastily read through the lyrics down to the scrawl at the base of the page. The figure had left her a note.

Play this for me


	5. Chapter 5

**Updated 4/5/16**

One two three four, two two three four, three two three four, four two three four, flat. Georgia groaned as she struck the f flat again. It was not a complicated piece, but it certainly was strange to her classical ears. She wondered if it was a folk piece, but could not be sure. Alfonse Frankenstein swore he had never heard it before.

"Is it not one of the pieces you brought with you?" He questioned as he looked over the page. "What is that on the bottom? An admirer? His penmanship lacks discipline. What sort of fellow was he that gave this to you?"

Victor seemed ill at ease the more his father pried. It did not escape Georgia's notice. Her phantom of the night was connected to him. As to how they were connected, she could not say. Did Victor know someone came to her at night? Or that she had been visited for the past several evenings? Why would he not say anything?

Elizabeth fretted over him like a dutiful wife and had tea brought to all of them. She smiled meekly at Georgia; she had run out of excuses for Victor. Georgia finally tore her gaze from her fair friend to speak with her merry host.

"Yes, I do believe it was a young man in England. He was painfully shy if I recall. It must have been given to me before my father passed." Her emerald eyes fell back on the music; guilt plagued her, but she could find no other way of explaining how it had come to her. The Frankenstein's were a friendly family, heedless of rumors and gossip, they thrived only on life and happiness, but even they could never respect her for allowing a strange man to approach her in her private quarters. Indeed, she felt a strong sensation that Alfonse would be disappointed in her. Her affinity with him was becoming stronger as he reminded her so much of her departed father.

"Well, the lad is quite far away now," he laughed. "Will you sing what you have for us?"

Her gaze flickered beyond the window of the Frankenstein parlor to the forest line. It was too chilly of a day for them to keep the windows open, but Georgia wondered if her visitor could hear her. Placing her right hand near the end of the piano with her other hand on the center keys, Georgia began her steady rhythm.

"By the meadow did I dream

 _of thy love so sweetly_

as soft as ringing bells

in your arms my heart doth dwell"

"Shame you broke the lad's heart," joked Alfonse. "'Tis a splendid piece and played too beautifully by the most talented pianist of our time!"

Georgia blushed and Elizabeth implored her father to cease his adoration. "Shall we go for a walk?" Asked Georgia as she rose from her piano. Alfonse blanched.

"My dear, it is quite cool!"

"Fresh air will rejuvenate me. This music is new to me and a bit frustrating. I think a short walk around the grounds will help me clear my mind," she countered.

"Who really gave you that music?" Snapped Victor suddenly. He rose from his seat, leaving Elizabeth to gape. His gaze burned into her, frightening her.

"Victor! What in heaven's name?" Cried his father. "Miss Daniels, please forgive my son, he has been under a great deal of stress lately. Please, take your stroll. Take Nettie with you."

A smile was on his face, but not his eyes. Victor's behavior scared her more than the unknownness of her nightly visitor. Folding the sheet of music into her pocket Georgia was a momentarily distracted from being caught in the awkward exchanges between the Frankenstein family. Georgia quickly took her leave and fetched Nettie.

A cool breeze served as a bitter reminder that winter was not a season to be trifled with, certainly not in a foreign country where they were the guests. Nettie and Georgia endured it by thinking of how the sun would return soon and with it, the soft warmth of spring. But Georgia's thoughts weren't on the weather, her mind lingered on him.

"Victor Frankenstein had no right to speak to you like that. He has some nerve. I will write Sir John at once," declared Nettie.

"No, Nettie, Mr. Frankenstein is embarrassed by his son. If Sir John summons us now they shall be insulted!"

"You should be insulted, Miss." Nettie stopped in horror. "Pardon me, Miss, I have stepped far from my station. Forgive me, please. I love you too dearly to watch Victor attack you like that."

The hair on Georgia's neck stood on end, a telltale sign that her watcher was nearby. Could he hear them? What thoughts were passing through his mind? What thoughts were passing through her own mind? Was she so enthralled by romances that she convinced herself she was in one?

Nettie sighed loudly. The day was wearing on and it would be dark soon. When Georgia returned to the house she felt a solemn stillness in the air. Victor, it seems, had disappeared. Elizabeth informed her that he left often, much to their chagrin. His leaving always came at the worst of times. Elizabeth became even more withdrawn than before and the copy of Sense and Sensibility Georgia lent her remained untouched in the drawing room. Georgia would remove it later to her own care once more.

But the Frankenstein's family neglect would not prevent Georgia from exploring her phantom. Once she was free to retire she returned to her room, she locked herself in from the rest of house but left the patio unlocked. The hearth roared with a fire made earlier by a servant, it sat opposite of the patio door. Her bed sat neatly just a few feet from the main door and the hearth. Her piano sat pressed against the windows on the wall adjacent to the patio. She would not be able to see her guest enter and the curtains over the windows prevented her from spying his reflection.

"In your arms my heart doth dwell. . ." She sang, finally getting the notes right. She paused for a moment and tried to decipher the next two lines. Silently, she tapped out the notes, hearing them in her head before she felt comfortable enough to play them. After the fourth time she played the melody and the countermelody, she decided to try singing the next stanza.

By meadows did I dream

of thy love so sweetly

as water of sparkling stream

coats the golden reeds

The final note faltered and Georgia froze. For a moment, she wondered if she would ever relax around her visitor. She forced her shoulders back down and shook the tension from her hands.

"It's beautiful," he declared with his oddly inflected and delicately broken voice. He seemed sad and forlorn to her.

"Do you have the rest?" She asked without turning.

"No."

"Why do you come?"

"To hear you play. To hear you sing. It is beautiful."

"May I turn?" She asked. Behind her, she heard shuffling as her visitor hid behind her dressing screen.

"Will you play anymore?" Asked her companion weakly.

Georgia turned fully, facing the screen. Behind the screen her large visitor crouched as best he could. She could see his shadow on the floor, it stretched out towards the freedom it had given up. She bent to extinguish the candles sitting atop her piano. As each light was snuffed out the room blanketed itself in darkness like a mantle of secrets.

"Not tonight," she replied softly. She was terrified, but her fear propelled her, she would unravel the mystery that was her visitor. "Tonight I want to speak with you, sir."

He shuffled once more behind the screen. No one had ever wanted to talk to him before, not unless he made them. Was he forcing her to speak with him? He was in her room, but she left the door unlocked, she played and sang his song. "I am no 'sir' or lord or any sort of gentleman or gentry."

Georgia frowned in the dullness of the room. "Then what shall I call you?" She asked plainly.

"Nothing," came his response. "For now, I have no name, no identity. I am the silent wind blowing in the summer."

"You are a poet," she retorted with a smile. "But enough banter. You've come to me. Why?"

The door was right there. He had but to run to it and he would be free. Oh! How his heart betrayed and taunted him! Because you are beautiful, he thought, though he knew better than to say it. She was well read and too thoughtful and clever to be merely summed up as beautiful.

"You make me feel human. You are my last hope. The music you play," he whimpered in unknown tragic pain, "is divine. I am at peace and the tempest is sedated."

Georgia sat on her bed and eyed the screen. For a brief moment she caught a glance of the figure behind it. A dark, patchy cowl hid his face, but he was there. He was real; she felt at ease being able to see any part of him.

"What a curious thing to say, dear poet." She paused for a moment. "Will you come tomorrow?"

From the shadows came a sigh, one of elation and relief. "Yes," replied the broken voice. "If that is your wish, Miss Daniels."

As he said her name she heard the fear and horror that followed it. He froze like a caught deer, desiring to flee but having nowhere to run. His shattered heart screamed and the tempest he thought had been quelled flared to life. If she hated him in that instant, if she screamed in horror that he spied on her the way the De Lacey's had, he would end her then and there. He would walk into the Frankenstein house and kill all that it contained.

"Georgia," she said. He melted in that moment. He could do nothing to her now. Nothing except love every piece of her. She was his mistress and he was at her mercy, although she did not know it.

"Georgia," he repeated with adoration. Her name on his lips tasted like sweet berries. He loved and desired her with a passion unknown to him. "I will return, Georgia, if that is your wish."

Her lips curled slightly. "It is, poet." She then reached up to the clips that bound her hair.

"Don't!" He pleaded. Georgia let her hands fall to her sides. She asked no questions of him but instead turned from him. He lacked the strength to watch her so closely. As he went to the door of the patio she spoke to him once more.

"Don't be afraid of me."

He then threw another gift for her to the floor and fled her room. Georgia trembled and sighed. Silent tears fell down her face. She stood from her bed and went to lock the patio door. Where he went, she could not say. Part of her was glad he was gone, the other part wanted him to stay. When she turned from the door she saw what he left behind for her. A single snowdrop stared mournfully up at her. To her delight, it wasn't crushed like the bundle she discovered when she first came to the country.

When she was finally ready for bed, she kept the blossom close to her heart and dreamt of a prince. He was gallant and tall, and he would save her from the uncertain future that awaited her in England.


	6. Chapter 6

**Special thanks to SamanthaJane13 and xxxMadameMysteryxxx for their continued support and beautiful comments.**

 **Updated 4/24/16**

Chapter 6

Was he trying to woo her? In a manner of speaking, he was. With the bitter memory of the De Lacey's as a reminder, he could not afford to repeat his original mistake. He would subtly introduce himself to Georgia and win her affection and when, if the day ever came, he would show himself to her and she would not shriek in fear and disgust. She would embrace him, even if she never came to love him. She was strong, like an addiction he would never be able to sunder himself from. To whatever end it would bring, he didn't want to be parted from her.

But Victor was another matter, one that threatened to foil his plans. His father must have figured out that he had given Georgia the song, but how? He wondered. Was it pure suspicion? He didn't blame Victor. After what Frankenstein did to his bride and what he, in turn, did to Henry was enough to make anyone paranoid and suspicious. Victor was right to be paranoid, the creature conceded bitterly. But why was he so determined to ruin his creation's happiness?

Victor, however, was dealing with his hatred in a wretched manner. His attitude towards Georgia was infuriating. Unjust, to say the least, she had no part in their quarrel. But his father lacked all manner of compassion, and he knew not what he was blessed with. The creature stopped his hike and cried. Stopping to cry seemed a permanent ritual for him since he first laid eyes on Georgia. Victor had Georgia in his company, he had her music and her voice, and yet, he could utter nothing kind to her. If only they could trade places, he lamented. He would treasure and protect Georgia and Elizabeth.

The creature reached the tree line of the Frankenstein house just as the sun was beginning to set. Through the trees, he saw Alfonse Frankenstein speaking with one of his servants. Georgia was in tears with Nettie's arms wrapped around her in consolation.

"My dear girl, forgive Victor and us. I had not realized how unwell he truly is." Alfonse looked ashen and terribly ashamed. He awkwardly tried to set his arm on Georgia's shoulders, but her quiet sobbing unnerved him.

"Miss Daniels," whispered Nettie. "Dry your eyes. You cannot act this way."

The creature wondered then at the restrictions placed on Georgia's emotions. What had that wretched devil of a father done to destroy her composure? His jaw tightened and clenched as he watched Georgia fight to regain her composure.

"I do not, Mr. Frankenstein, wish to be a burden on your family." Her voice was meek and broken. She offered Alfonse a fake smile, pretending that she was over the recent exchange.

"Oh, Miss Daniels, you have been nothing of the sort, nor could you ever be. Miss Nettie, will you be kind enough to draw up a warm bath for Miss Daniels. I will have Martha bring you tea. The English drink tea in these circumstances, is that correct?" Alfonse asked awkwardly.

Nettie scowled, forgetting her advice to Georgia. "This sort of behavior is not common amongst the English. If you must know, we drink tea for any occasion. It is a far better drink for retaining one's wits."

"Nettie!" Cried Georgia.

Alfonse nodded softly. "I will get Martha then. I ask that you remain in your room, Miss Daniels until we are able to take you back to Sir John." He left them in haste, fleeing around the corner of his house. They heard him shouting to the servants and crying out for Victor. His anger boomed in the colorful atmosphere. A beautiful day had been soured and the night seemed unable to erase his shame.

"Nettie, I am alright. I will lock myself in. Please, you don't need to stand outside. Nettie, I am fine to sleep alone. Victor isn't even home. You watched him leave!" Georgia and Nettie stood arguing that the threshold of her room. Nettie continued fretting over Georgia like a worried mother. It took some effort for Georgia to wedge Nettie from her door and shut it. A tinge of guilt surfaced, Nettie was only trying to help. After a while, the older woman left the girl and returned to her own room where she spent the night wringing her hands together at the distress Victor caused.

Once alone Georgia reached up to her face, there was slight bruising, and the flesh prickled with sensitivity. In a few days time, she will have forgotten the pain, but she would never forget who did it. Georgia placed herself before the hearth and gently combed her hair, careful not to break apart her damp curls. The confrontation with Victor played in her head again and again.

Victor appeared out of nowhere as Georgia took another lap around the house. In her hand was the snowdrop her companion had given her. She smiled to herself as she examined it, completely unaware of the man charging towards her. Before she had a moment to react Victor snatched the blossom from her hand.

"Monster!" He hissed at her. Georgia back away from him in fear.

"Mr. Frankenstein! Return my flower," her voice trembled. In that moment, she realized that it was not her companion she feared, it was Victor, it was his presence that frightened her.

Victor ripped the blossom and threw it to the ground. "No! Demon! I should have destroyed you like Henry said. You and that abomination!"

"What are you talking ab—"

Before she could finish, Victor's hand struck across her face with enough force to knock her to the ground. She was stunned to silence, but she could hear the voices of Elizabeth and Alfonse, as well as the servants, cry out, their voices sounded muffled and distant. Georgia flinched as Victor raised his hand to strike her again before one of the servants tackled Victor and restrained him. Elizabeth wept while Alfonse pulled Georgia towards the house. It all had happened so fast, and she was left clueless as to why it happened at all.

Georgia felt the warm, stinging tears slide down her face. With the sleeve of her nightgown she gingerly wiped the fallen drops away.

"He hit you," came a voice from the other side of the room. Standing in the doorway was a hulk of a man, or at least, he seemed so from where she sat.

Georgia stood facing her companion. His weathered cloak shielded his form, his hood remained pulled over his face, obscuring any hope she had of seeing him. She approached him slowly and stopped when she saw him tense. He was, at least, two feet taller than she, his frame dwarfed her.

"Did Frankenstein hit you?" He asked. His tone was restrained, he was angry but did his best to mask it front of her. Would she tell him the truth?

"Yes," she replied."

His hands tightened into fists at his sides. Georgia gasped loudly and took a step away from him. In the broken light of the early spring moon and the fickle light from the hearth she saw his hands. At first, she thought the light was playing tricks on her, and then she realize that the ashy color of his hands was simply how they looked. The crude scars on his left hand did not go unnoticed by her either. Her companion knew in that moment he had made a terrible mistake. He quickly concealed the appendages beneath his cloak and turned from her.

"Please," he begged, "do not fear me. I am a monster, but I will never hurt you, Georgia."

Why? Oh, God, why had he done that? The loss of control, the exposure, it was killing him now. The creature cursed Frankenstein. Hot tears wove their crooked path down his cheeks. If she could not bear the sight of his hands, she could never see the rest of him. The weight of his heart tugged painfully.

"Geor—" He froze. Snaking around him from behind were her pale arms. They brushed past his arms and came to rest on his abdomen. She locked herself into position by lacing her fingers together. He felt her cheek press against his back and her breasts— her breasts. Terror fell over him like an enormous shadow. Did she know how dangerous this was? Did she know how badly he wanted her, how he needed her? Did she realize how she made him hate Frankenstein more?

"You're not a monster. I've seen them. I saw one today. I've been avoiding one my whole life. You, my poet, are a saving grace." She gripped him tighter.

His mind cried in agony. Against his will, he trembled. "You have not seen me, kind Georgia. I am unfit to be seen by one so beautiful."

Her grip became firmer. Had the tempest roared back to life? It tried desperately to pry him from her. She, however, could not bring herself to release him. How could she explain that she had only been startled? But she had feared him in the beginning. Would he forgive her naivety? Romantic novels had ruined her expectations of men in real life, but her poet was different, a storybook character come to life. She needed someone like her poet.

"You haven't seen my face, my body." He wanted so desperately to touch her, kiss her, cherish her. The longing was immense, beyond anything he had ever known in his short life.

He groaned. With a slow intake of air, he calmed himself. "Georgia. . . ." He was unraveling. Desire was mixing with fear; if she scorned him he would waste away. What was left of his soul would be devoured by the dark recesses of his tortured mind.

Her grip on him finally loosened. "What is your history with Victor?" She tried desperately to pierce the shroud around him. The chaotic puzzle of his presence was difficult to piece together. "He said the most disturbing things to me. He said he should have destroyed me like Henry told him too."

The creature heaved with a sigh. Light faded as the fire diminished in the hearth. They both became enveloped in darkness. Despite the lack of light, Georgia could see his large shape pacing. The floorboards creaked and sighed with his footfalls.

"You," his tormented voice whispered. "You remind him of a promise; of my intended."

Georgia blushed. So he had been in love before and Frankenstein ended it. She felt a tinge of jealousy and at the same time, she was glad he was no longer with this unknown woman. Georgia felt hopelessly romantic, like Marianne clinging to Willoughby.

"Do I look like her? Your intended?"

"Just your hair," he mused.

"May I see your hands," she interjected suddenly.

"There is no light," he countered.

Georgia's face soured. Gentlemen did not tease or banter with her, that was something only Nettie did. Was this affection? Suitors actively pursued her when she was a few years younger, each hungered for her father's property. When her claim to his property became disputed, all of her suitors abandoned her. Was this what it felt like to flirt?

"Let me feel your hands then," she ordered.

From the shadows his hand appeared. Although she could not see it, she knew precisely where it was. Instead of his hand, her long fingers came into contact with a folded piece of paper. He released it into her keeping and dropped his arm.

"Another gift?"

"I cannot give you jewels or the fine things you deserve. What I have given you is all I can give."

Anything she asked for he would give, except the ability to see him. That privilege could be given if she could love him as he was. It was something he did not believe she was capable of, no one was.

"Your hand, dear poet." She reached out into the darkness, waiting. He hesitated a moment before lifting his arm out for her. The paper he had given her was carefully placed in her nightgown. In the darkness, her hands sought out his. When the smooth flesh of her well-used fingers touched his wrinkled flesh he felt as though lightning struck him. Electricity hummed through him as it did the day he came to life.

Her fingers traced along the lines of his palms, the evidence of someone else's life. She was delicate with him but critical: she was creating a map of his hand in her mind. Her fingers then sought out his wrist. It was smooth; his right arm had been attached to the rest of him closer to his shoulder. His forearm was smooth, only feathered by slight scarring. His left arm, however, held an entirely different story, but he kept that story to himself. She hadn't exactly been deceived about his appearance.

Georgia, after running her fingers over the sensitive flesh of his inner arm, laced her fingers through his. A click emitted from the creature as he sucked in air with great care to suppress his urge to moan. Her touch could melt steel. He was petrified, the doom he fought so hard against was coming upon him.

"May I have your other hand?" She asked. The fear in her voice had finally disappeared, which was for terrifying and agonizing for him to hear.

Yes, screamed his mind, you can have anything you desire. "No. It is late, Georgia. I must go."

She said nothing for a moment. "Frankenstein has already left and I do not know where his father sent him. I am to return to Sir John's estate shortly. Will you visit me there?"

Georgia slept on the third floor, how could he visit her there? "If that is your wish," he answered with his back to her.

"It is," she replied.

"Then I will find a way. Georgia, I must go. I will return to you soon, I promise." I will always return to you.

Just as he started towards the patio door she took his left hand in hers. His movements halted. Taking his hand, she brought the appendage up to her lips and kissed his palm. His gasp was loud as he cried out her name in horror. He snatched his hand from her and ran through the open patio door, fleeing into the night. Georgia smiled to herself as she watched him flee. The desire to be bold with a man had always burned in her veins, but there had never been a man she felt inclined to break propriety for. Her poet, however, lit a flame in her soul; she had to see him and learn as much as she could about him.

She pulled the folded paper from her gown and smoothed out its page. The moon shone through the glass of the patio door and fell over the crude words of his handwriting. She grinned as she read the poem by William Wordsworth. A poem that summed him up better than it did her.

She was a phantom of delight  
When first she gleamed upon my sight;  
A lovely Apparition, sent  
To be a moment's ornament;  
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;  
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;  
But all things else about her drawn  
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;  
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,  
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon a nearer view,  
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!  
Her household motions light and free,  
And steps of virgin liberty;  
A countenance in which did meet  
Sweet records, promises as sweet;  
A Creature not too bright or good  
For human nature's daily food;  
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,  
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene  
The very pulse of the machine;  
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,  
A Traveler between life and death;  
The reason firm, the temperate will,  
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;  
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,  
To warm, to comfort, and command;  
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,  
With something of angelic light.


	7. Chapter 7

**Updated 4/24/16**

Chapter 7

The wind felt magical against his skin as he ran. Was this what birds felt as they sailed through open skies? He almost forgot his anger and hatred for Frankenstein due to the giddiness he now felt. What wonders! His hand still tingled where she kissed him. It took everything in him not to turn back and look at her, if he had, he would have ruined everything by showing himself. She was like fire in his blood!

The terrain changed rapidly as he raced faster than any man could. Roots poked out between trees but he leapt over them with little care or caution. Occasionally, he would hit a patch of mud and skid through the forest, but his balance was impeccable. He was a spirit in the forest, a natural addition.

Some miles north of the Frankenstein house he caught sight of a road where a carriage raced on. The carriage was speeding towards a small town, only a few miles separated it from its destination. What was Victor doing? But the creature raced on; inhuman speed propelled him, he would soon catch up to the carriage.

Once in the town the creature crouched low and hid among crates and buildings as he followed Victor and surprisingly, Elizabeth. Her doting on Victor infuriated the creature. Elizabeth was far too beautiful and kind to be with someone like Victor. His father knew not how fortunate he truly was.

Victor stumbled into a building, an inn of some sort, the creature guessed, and disappeared within. Men tended to the couple and led them upstairs. They spoke in hushed whispers in an attempt to pass undetected by the other patrons of the inn.

"Fetch the doctor," said one man to another. "They need to be gone before morning. Keep them quiet, Claude."

All the windows in town were shuttered and gave the creature the freedom to lurk about undetected. He maneuvered through several alleyways, circling the inn before finding a building with access to the roof. Agile and quick, he scaled the wall to the top like a spider. Once on the roof he spied the inn and began his circumambulations trying to find Frankenstein's room.

Most of the rooms, like the town, were shuttered with the exception of the corner room at the west end of the inn. There were several candles lit and a fire— just enough light for the creature to peer inside. Frankenstein sat despondently in an armchair by the fire. Elizabeth sat at his feet rubbing his knees, offering some vain form of consolation. The creature crept closer, trying to hear each word that passed between the two.

"Victor, please," she begged in her delicate voice. "Tell me what is bothering you. Who are you afraid of?"

She was on the verge of fresh tears. In their youth, it had been so easy to pull what she wanted from him. He had been so eager to trust her, to love her. What happened? He was ashamed of something, something unrelated to the assault on Georgia. Elizabeth whimpered as she massaged Victor's knees.

"My father," said Victor at last, "is sending me to England. He will follow us. Perhaps the creature will remain here in pursuit of his vile lust for Georgia."

Elizabeth wept at his words, thinking him mad beyond hope. His creation, however, fumed. Lust! His father accused him of lusting after Georgia! He desired her, of course, how could he not? But he was not so base that he would pursue her for this reason. Was Frankenstein so ignorant of her grace and kindness? Was he so ignorant of beauty? Elizabeth wept at his feet, and yet, he seemed unmoved. At this, the creature frowned; Victor was far too callous for such a fragile woman. He was far too cruel for such devotion and tenderness.

After a moment, Elizabeth collected herself. "Why don't I prepare a bath for you? We've such a long day tomorrow. A bath would be nice, I think."

"Prepare one for yourself. I will keep watch," he responded coldly.

Her lip and chin quivered, but she resigned herself to his madness. She left him, silently weeping as she prepared one comfort for herself.

The creature watched for a while yet, contemplating what he would do. The desire to ruin Victor had passed, Victor was doing the damage by himself. Yet, he was sad for Elizabeth who would now tend to the paranoia of her intended. The destruction of their happiness was Victor's doing, but the creature knew he held some of the blame, he committed horrible acts of revenge that left him feeling empty rather than satisfied. If Victor had never made him, then none of them would be where they were now. Georgia, he thought sadly, would play her music for some other soul and he would beautiful, adoring every note that escaped her. Perhaps the gentlemen would have been Henry Clerval. But Victor sought to conquer what was not his dominion and thus stole the happiness of many.

But the creature decided to end his feud with his father. He would turn back and return to Georgia. There had to be a way for him to ensnare Georgia's affections. But what could he offer a girl of so much wealth? Truthfully, there was nothing he could offer except brute strength to protect her. He pushed the dark thoughts from his mind and turned from the refuge of his broken father. He would have to find some way to offer Georgia what she deserved.

The sun was well into the sky by the time he reached the Frankenstein house. Georgia was awake and was packing her belongings. She didn't seem particularly sad at the impending departure, but she continued to cast forlorn glances at the patio door. The creature smiled to himself as he watched at a distance.

Georgia vocalized soft melodies as she worked several dresses into her trunk. Several bonnets followed soon after; the final items to be added to the case were her books and loose sheets of music. She shut the trunk and latched it. With a heft, Georgia pulled the trunk from her bed and proceeded towards the door. Just as her fingers went to the handle she heard a knock.

At her door stood Alfonse looking as melancholy as he ever could. "Good day, Miss Daniels. I trust you are feeling better? Please forgive my family and me for sending you away so hastily; but without any women to keep you company, I could not leave you in the house thus. As an apology, though, I insist you take this piano with you." His final statement brought a kind smile to his lips, one he had often displayed before his family experienced so much grief.

"Mr. Frankenstein, I could not! Please, let the events of yesterday remain there and think no more of it."

"Miss Daniels, you must take it. I shall be insulted if you do not. Besides," he chuckled at her dismay, "we have another in the parlor. My late wife was the only one who ever played. You play so beautifully; it would warm my heart to know such an instrument would be well tended too. Think of it as a token of friendship. You will always be welcomed in my house."

After such an impassioned speech, Georgia felt that she could not refuse. She humbly accepted the deliverance of the instrument to Sir John's estate in a few days time. She also accepted the senior Frankenstein's desire to carry her luggage.

All the while, the creature watched, wondering how he could steal away into her room. He lingered around the Frankenstein house long enough to watch Georgia and her servant quit the house indefinitely. Once he knew she was safely on her way he returned to his cave where he spent the remainder of the day dreaming of Georgia.

If he could remain with his dreams he would, and forever. Georgia's soft lips devoured his skin and her eyes beheld him with such love and longing, not fear or scorn. Her russet hair fell and covered him like a mantle, a shield of protection. She was a blanket covering his crimes, easing away his anger. When he woke in the evening he envisioned her cast in a glow of sunlight and it was to this heavenly vision that he eased the tension building in him since the day he first saw her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Updated 4/24/16**

Chapter 8

Darkness cloaked the house of Sir John, muffling the late night gossip of servants and the general creaking of the old house. For Georgia, however, the events of the past few days had nearly been too much for her and so she lay still as death in her bed. The window to her room sat open and the warming spring air wafted into her room. It had been quite an adjustment sleeping in the room once more: she no longer had a piano to occupy her or a patio door that beckoned a stranger.

She waited as long as she could for him, but she was weary and sleep could no longer be avoided. Against the wall near her open window was a small writing desk and on it sat the food she managed to commandeer for her visitor. She left it covered in case he finally came and needed it. He would find her to be a compassionate host.

It wasn't until one in the morning that Georgia's nocturnal quest arrived. There was no moon this night and even if there had been, the collection of clouds above would have kept her secret that night. The creature, however, was not deterred by the absence of natural light, Victor had endowed him with superb sight. He could see Georgia's small frame beneath a collection of blankets ruffled around her. Her beautiful hair fell over her pillow in subtle waves of curls.

The creature felt a powerful longing as he beheld her. Caution and the remembrance of the De Lacey's and the villagers he met at the beginning of his life made him leery of all, but this did not stop the creature. With trembling fingers, he reached out and moved a curl from her face. The feel of her soft cheek pressed against his fingers as he brushed away the lock of her hair nearly brought him to his knees. Georgia murmured as she moved in her sleep. Instinctively, the creature backed from her.

"Don't go," she whispered. He knew then that she was awake and actively seeking him out in the darkness. "Stay with me."

"Go back to sleep, Georgia," he whispered gently. Instead of obeying him, she sat up in bed and peered into the silent void of night.

"You can see me, can't you?" she asked. His voice croaked out a response, causing him to wince. "That isn't fair."

He smiled to himself. "What isn't?"

"You know what."

Her feet slipped from beneath the covers. Hands reached out, searching for him. The creature backed away from her as she drew closer. She stumbled slightly and in an instant, he caught her.

"Georgia, please, sit down. You cannot see. You might fall and someone will come. We'll be found and I—" Will be killed and your screams would fill the air.

The fear in his voice was endearing, but she would not endanger her friend, not when she felt so safe in his arms. "You'll always be here to catch me, though."

Her hands ran up his arms towards his shoulders. He stopped her just before she reached his neck. The evidence of her disappointment was clear, but he noticed her delight when his fingers looped around hers.

"You are very tall, my poet. I don't think I could reach your face if you stood up straight." She paused a moment. "Why are you so afraid of me touching and seeing you?"

He tried to draw away from her, but she held on fast. "Victor made me. . . hideous. You would be so very frightened of me."

"Did you have a duel with him? I cannot imagine how he walked away unscathed. Did he cheat?" But she did not wait for his response. Georgia brought his hands to her face, he obliged reluctantly. She then pressed his palms against her cheeks and felt him shudder. "I need you, my poet. I need you to trust me."

He trembled and fought the urge to kiss her. He could see her quiver, but not in fear. What a curious thing. She flattened his hands against her face and felt his warmth seeping into her. Oh, how he desired her!

"Will you kiss me?" She asked suddenly.

Had she read his mind? He was at a loss for what to do next. Of course, he wanted to kiss her, but what then? "No," he replied sadly.

If she was upset, she didn't show it. "I thought not. Are you hungry? I have left food and tea on the table. I think the tea has cooled too much."

"I have never had tea, so I would not know how it ought to taste. Yes, dear Georgia, I am hungry." As he went to remove his hands from her face she placed a feathered kiss against his flesh. Without thinking, he brought her hand to his lips. The taste of her was indescribable and he felt himself linger over the softness of the top of her hand. Her gasp brought him back to reality. He immediately released her.

"My beloved poet! What a gift you've give me." She was happy, truly happy! "Lead me to my bed and then enjoy your meal. I know you are shocked by your own actions, so I shan't bother you again this night."

His hand reached for hers once more as he guided her back to her bed. "You could never bother me. Rest and I shall answer a few of your questions."

Georgia's own grip on him was firm but gentle. Her heart was elated by the courage he had shown and she knew just how terrified by his actions he was. With hard work and the lessons from a flirtatious former suitor studying to be a doctor, Georgia discerned the rate of his pulse. It was quick, though not as quick as hers. Certainly, though, it was faster than it had been before. She found it slower than it ought to have been, but she knew he was an enigmatic creature; something almost faerie-like.

His careful hands led her to her soft mattress. Her lithe hand felt warm between his large ones. The creature was reluctant to let her go, but when he did she did not protest or cling to him. He left her smiling on the bed as he went to the table to eat.

The lid he lifted from his food was the color of lacquer, but to him, it was as fine as silver or gold. He placed the lid on the other end of the table and sat down. There were several slices of pheasant covered in cranberry jam. a side of what used to be steamed cauliflower, a slice of bread, and a few grapes. He was taken aback by the sight. Her giggle pierced the still air.

"You like it then?"

"This is a feast, generous Georgia!" He wanted everything in that instant. "Before I start, I will answer your original question: Frankenstein and I did not duel. If we had, he would be lucky to be alive and whole."

She said nothing as she contemplated his words.

He chose the cold tea first. The liquid was sweetened with honey, something he had only tried once in his brief life. There was a hint of something he didn't know, but it smelled sweet. The nectar was calming and he enjoyed it. What would it have been like hot? It was a dream likely to never become a reality.

"What is in the tea?"

"Vanilla," she replied, her longing to sleep was becoming evident, but she continued to fight it. "Have you had it before?"

He answered her in turn. "No."

"You are quite strong but agile," she assessed. "Not buff like a butcher or timberman, but lithe like a swimmer!" She finished in a rushed. "I haven't seen many of them, though."

Her laughter was melodious, but it was deceiving. Though he did not know it then, her laughter was a mask for the grief she had yet to share with him. He was ignorant to that pain and perceived only the mask of it: her laugh was beautiful and strong.

"You are an expert in the forest, but you sound well educated. How did you come to wander the night? Where is your family."

This question was not one he wanted to answer, but he promised. Before he spoke he stuffed the pheasant into his mouth to stall. How could he explain any of this to her? "My family," he answered, attempting to swallow his food. "I was taken in more or less. My father abandoned me. I found a family and from them, I learned how to speak, read, and write. Their patriarch was a musician himself, he played the violin."

Her face fell. "Your father sounds cruel. What of your mother?"

My father is the cruelest. The question about his mother haunted him. Could he consider Elizabeth as his mother? She would reject him undoubtedly after his crimes against her family. It was agonizing for him to tell her he had no mother, but he did.

"My mother," she started suddenly, "died when I was very young. And my father—"

He had no warning and no true understanding of how to help her. Watching her cry was the most terrifying moment of an already terrifying existence. He put his fork down and walked to the foot of her bed. Cautiously, he reached out and grasped her leg.

"— He died about a year ago and my life has been. . . turbulent." Suppressing her tears she smiled in the darkness. "Let us discuss this another night."

A smile was present in her voice, but so was the lump of emotion she was trying to swallow. There was a powerful connection between them and it became evident to both when the creature went to remove his hand from her leg and her hand went to meet him. Their fingers touched for only a second before he pulled his hand away. Her touch sent a jolt of joy through him. Why had this never happened before? He wondered. What was he feeling?

"Goodnight, sweet poet."

"Goodnight, dear Georgia." He answered tenderly. He stayed for several minutes more to finish eating and to listen to her soft snoring. When he finished, he stood, approaching her door, but just before he opened it, he placed a kiss on Georgia's brow. The door swung open and he used his own secret way to pass undetected.


	9. Chapter 9

**Updated 4/24/16**

Chapter 9

Every evening he went to her, she would always have some treat or drink ready for him. There would be pastries or fruit or entire meals waiting to fill his eager belly. He wondered, though, if the servants ever found her behavior odd. Georgia confirmed that they did think it strange and offered her more food at dinner. The creature, however, pleaded on behalf of their secrecy, that she stop. Instead, they turned their evening meetings into treasured and unchaperoned dates. They would talk for hours until Georgia, so overcome with exhaustion, would fall asleep against her will. Although the creature kept himself hidden in darkness, they both sought out the other with shy glances and quiet smiles. This communion was his greatest achievement, or so he thought.

Georgia was always full of questions, always thirsting for knowledge. She was respectful, an echo to her restrictive upbringing, but determined. Each night she would ask if he would kiss her and he would decline. There was no anger or scorn from being jilted, she simply moved on to the next question. Her thoughts were thorough and she seemed to see him as a difficult song, one she would have to practice and mess up many times before she got it right.

To him, she was an escape from his sins and the wretched loneliness he had been forced to endure. She was his sky with hair like a sunset and skin like the distant moon, peppered with stars. Her skin was smooth and untarnished, unlike his. He felt a growing desire to touch her.

"You remind me of the faerie stories Nettie and my governess used to read me when I was a girl. You have a gentlemanly air about you, but there is something primal and strong in you. Like a faerie king or forest sprite. Did you stray from your kingdom, milord?" She asked in a fit of giggling.

"Do people enjoy this talk from you, Georgia?" He asked. Fairies seemed to be regarded as something evil or tricky in this part of the world. He wondered why she would make such a comparison.

"No. Many regard it as nonsense or pagan speech. They're only stories. Part of me believes in mythical things. Were they not based on something real? Are you not something real?"

He conceded the issue. Surely, he was a mythical being, but he was not beautiful, only terrible.

She was sitting on her bed staring into the darkness from the drawn curtains. After a moment, she turned to him. "Something happened in England," she informed him. The reason why she was so far from home. "A rumor was started, about my father, but this rumor is, in reality, a truth we tried to keep secret. When people heard, they ended their connection to myself and Sir John. My inheritance, which was supposed to be mine until I married where it would then become my husband's, is being withheld. My claim to it is being contested by my aunt. To her, this rumor— truth— negates my claim to my property."

Her companion struggled to understand the complicated rules surrounding her wealth and position. He recalled what Eva, Agatha, Felix, and their father endured in the cottage where he spent the first portion of his life. They had fallen so far in society and endured exile. Was he right to assume that Georgia was now resigned to this fate? He wondered, then, if this was the reason she had told no one about him.

Each step he took towards her was slow and hesitant, but he needed to be close to her. "What does your aunt have to do with your money? Is it not yours?" He stopped as she tried to explain, but could not without revealing the rumor. "Is there someone who wants to marry you, but cannot without the promise of your money?"

She sat straight in her bed. "No. There is no one, my poet."

He resumed his path towards her. How could it be that no one was pursuing her? They would be foolish not too. If he were handsome and not cursed by the carelessness of Victor Frankenstein then he would marry her that instant. She would never suffer from the whispers behind her back.

"My darling poet," she cried with the evidence of her despair. He sat close to her on the bed. "I've been abandoned by nearly all my close friends. A handful remain and most of them live in this house."

Her hand reached out for his. A moment's hesitation from him delayed his own touch. The tips of their fingers brushed each other. Georgia took a deep breath and laced her fingers with his. Her other hand reached up to his shoulder, he flinched, but did not move away. Georgia then prepared herself for what she would do next.

Pushing her anxiety away, Georgia leaned towards her companion. Her lips found his and she felt her mind explode. He froze, torn between wanting to run and scooping her into his arms.

"Georgia," he gasped, tearing away from her. "We cannot."

"Why?" she asked, her hurt stung him. "Do you— do you not want me?" Her eyes went wide. "Is it my poverty?"

Poverty? "How could you think that? I -I would never abandon you! Certainly not because of your financial state."

"Then why are you rejecting me? Why do you visit me each night? I care about you. I—"

"Georgia, don't be impudent." He didn't mean the words he spoke, but he was helpless to take them back, helpless to stop her reaction.

"Impudent! Impudent. I love you! I— you make me feel alive. Nothing bad will happen to me if you're with me."

He was frozen. His ribs felt tight, crushing the air out of him. The air from the open window was cool, but it did little to alleviate what he was feeling. "You love me?"

Georgia's face fell. "Yes," she insisted.

He rose from the bed, Georgia followed, grabbing his hand. He turned and growled a deep, guttural growl before snatching his hand away. He backed towards the window, shifting the curtain just enough for a moonbeam to illuminate his neck. Georgia's eyes fell on a large stitched scar that ran across his neck. Intersecting the scar was another one that traveled down beneath his rough looking clothes. They looked painful and careless. For a moment, Georgia stood still and her companion knew he could do nothing else.

"Is that what you're afraid of?" She asked, tears falling down her face as she drew closer to him.

"Georgia, I am a monster. You deserve so much better." His voice was pleading, the anger she had heard moments ago was gone. "You have given me so much. My heart is full of love because of you."

A cry audibly escaped her as she reached out for him. "My poet, my love, please. You deserve happiness. I can hear your pain, your sorrow, your loneliness. I listen, it is what I do."

Her hands trembled before him. The creature didn't know what to do. How could he ever be with her? Words were trying to fight their way out of his mouth, but nothing came. Everything in his past told him he was meant to be denied all that he held dear. If he allowed this, he would lose her, he would lose all the humanity he had left.

"I make you happy, I know I do. We make each other happy. I am holding on by a thread, please don't cut it." Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to spill out.

The creature stepped back into the moonlight, just enough so that she could see the scars again. Both of his hands went out to meet hers. They were grasping onto a lifeboat clinging for dear life. They stood with their hands together for a long time. Georgia watched his chest rise and fall and wondered just how he had gotten his scars and what Victor had done to him.

"All right," he said at last. He brought her closer to him and directed her hands to his face.

His skin felt rough under her fingertips. It wasn't supple or elastic in the way that hers was, rather, it felt dried and stretched. After a moment, she grew accustomed to it, the odd cross between life and death although she did not realize that was what it felt like. There were no words that could accurately express the sensations, he felt otherworldly to her. His face was warm in her hands, and his muscles moved with feeling: twitching and tightening in response to the stimuli.

Her fingers moved like the sightless studying maps. She found that his jaw was well defined and traced the bone up to his ears where she tugged at them playfully. He whispered her name in response. When her moment of teasing was over, her fingers pressed his cheeks before converging on his nose. Oblivious to the blemishes of his cheeks she followed the line of his straight and proud nose. At the tip, the flesh rounded, softening the point of the feature that seemed too aristocratic for him. His nostrils flared slightly at her curious touch.

Next, she dropped her fingers to his lips. They parted only a bit as she swept across them. They were supple, but not defined. Together, his lips pressed a kiss to her fingertips. She blushed profusely and gently pressed her fingers firmly against his lips.

"Don't distract me, my poet," she chided playfully. Her fingers then traveled up to his eyes and edged up to his brows which were thick and full and shielded his eyes.

"What color are your eyes?"

"Blue," he replied. "But they do not sparkle like yours. They are glassy, watery."

"And far superior to my own."

"Only in the ability to see, not in beauty," he countered.

But her hands would not be delayed, there was still much that she needed to see. She came to his forehead and found another crude scar slashed at his hairline. Her fingers gently caressed the raised wound. To oblige her, he bent lower so that she no longer petered on the tips of her toes. The scar ran about two inches along his hairline. Running her fingers through his hair she brought his head close to her and kissed his scar. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Georgia's fingers curled around his mass of hair. The tresses fell to his shoulders and were soft to the touch, but unkempt and unruly. There was chaos to this creation, but she felt no compulsion to put order to it. She wanted to exist within it. The notion frightened her almost as much as it did him.

She leaned her head back and lifted her jaw up, bringing her lips to his. To her surprise, he responded. Their lips melted together and her companion cradled her face in his large hands as he tasted the mouth he had desired for so long. To her he tasted like honey from the evening's tea and the two of them passed the flavor back and forth.

As he leaned over the woman he had once hated he felt all the animosity and hatred for humanity fade. It was replaced by a sense of kinship, a duty to protect this race of creatures. Her lips were pulling out all of his grievances against humans and his creator and melting it like butter. Why had he not met her first? He would have known the language of music and happiness. He would have known the love he had always longed for.

When they parted, Georgia continued to plant a trail of kisses along his jaw before he stood to his full height, towering above her. His heart battled against his ribs. There was a fire in him, a desire so strong he felt like he would burst. A powerful longing came over him. His hands yearned to touch her smooth flesh and his tongue wanted to taste the hidden parts of her.

"I must go," he said at last.

"You'll return tomorrow?"

"I-I don't know."

There was a pause between them. Georgia knew why he stopped, she was glad he had, she would have given herself to him that night. He had far more discipline than she did. She wanted him to return, but she also wanted him in the way that she could not give, not yet anyway.

"Did you find Frankenstein?"

His peace flashed to anger. "Yes. He left for your homeland. It is there that his father hopes he will recover."

"Will he?" She asked. By her tone it was clear that she did not care to know the status of Frankenstein, she wanted her companion's thoughts.

"Not likely. He is plagued by his own insanity; the memories of his injustices. Do not tarnish a perfect night by discussing a person who has wronged us both."

Before he left, he swept her into his arms and delivered her to her bed. He pulled her covers away and set her upon the mattress as gently as he could. She reached up as he released her and touched his face. He flinched like a frightened bird before pulling completely away from her.

"Go to sleep, Georgia."

"Don't be angry with me."

He said nothing as he disappeared into the darkness. Who was he fooling? She would hate him for all that he had done. The nameless creature ran back to his hidden cave where he wept to himself well into the night. He loved Georgia Daniels until his heart broke at the thought of never truly having her.

The desire to ruin Victor rekindled in his heart, but he pushed it aside. Was he a man or a fiend as Victor believed? Was he worthy of loving Georgia? If he ended Victor he would lose Georgia. But as he sat in a conflict of thoughts and emotions his clever mind devised another plan. He would succeed with Georgia where he had failed with the De Laceys. He dried his eyes and with renewed determination he hardened his face for the future he was taking for himself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Updated 6/19/2016**

Chapter 10

Georgia sat at her piano, staring at the keys. Apart from her dresses and a few books, the instrument was all that belonged entirely to her. No one could take it away, but now she didn't want it. If the keys moved on their own she wouldn't be surprised, she would, instead, be grateful for the distraction. Each time her eyes fell on the piano she heaved with a dramatic sigh.

"If you want attention, Miss Georgia, you've got it," said Nettie as she sat on the sofa next to Georgia. "What is the matter?"  
"Nothing," replied Georgia with another sigh. She carelessly tapped a few more keys.

Nettie adjusted her dress and opened the book in her hand. "Is it your friend? The one that comes to visit you at night."

Georgia's fingers slipped, causing her to hit a cluster of black and white keys. The dissonance ripped through the gloom of her cheerless day. "H-how do you know about him?"

"You just told me," she answered simply. "I suspected it for a while, but then I heard you arguing with someone a few nights ago. Georgia, what were you thinking?" She hissed in a low whisper.

Georgia flushed. "I was thinking I had finally found someone who accepted me as I am, as I am possibly nothing now. He cares for me, or I thought he did."

Nettie paled and tossed her book to the side. "You didn't give up your virtue did you?"

"No!" snapped Georgia. "He would never have left me if I had. . . . I just don't know what has happened to him. I know he loves me."

"He was probably caught sneaking into some other girl's room and was shot while trying to take her."

Nettie's tone was almost in jest, she needed Georgia to see the foolishness of her actions. The young pianist thought she already lost all that there was to lose, but there was still further for her to fall. Was she that naive to have not thought about the consequences of her actions?

Georgia covered the keys of her piano and turned to face her longtime friend and caretaker. "I do not care for propriety, nor the stringent rules that govern our lives. I do not care for the whispers behind my back, they've done enough damage to me already, what more could they do? And marriage!" She exclaimed, raising to her feet. "What dowry have I? A few hundred pounds a year? What little Sir John can spare? I loath the people of my rank! And my—"

Tears streamed down her face and the hue of her cheeks went from white to red. The beauty of her womanhood wilted into a childlike demeanor, full of passion and impudence. "They scheme and scorn. If you aren't dressed the way they want then up go their pointed noses! Oh! And 'she's got the skill of a concert pianist, but the vocal training of a country bumpkin. She'll be great for entertaining the footman's friends!' It's all rubbish, Nettie. My God! How they talk."

Georgia finally stopped pacing and dropped herself onto the sofa next to Nettie and wept into her arms. "You'll get through this, Georgia, love. I needed to know what your decision would be. I have a confession."

Georgia sat up and stared at her. She quickly wiped away her tears and demanded to know what Nettie needed to say.

"I met your poet."

Glass seemed to shatter in her mind or maybe it was the sound the earth made when it stopped moving? Her breathing slowed or did it just feel that way? What was she feeling? Every single sound echoed loudly in her ears. "W-what did you say?"

Her heart sank into her stomach and dread filled her to the point that she felt beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

Nettie smiled sweetly. "The least time you saw him, dear. I cornered him and spoke with him. He hasn't abandoned you, my dear, he wants to deserve you. I think that is why he left"

Georgia returned to her seat. There was a mercilessly pounding in her head. Nettie knew her poet and he knew Nettie. Then where was he? Why would he not return to her? Her temper flared inside. Of course he abandoned her, he must have realized how difficult life with her would end up being. And what had he disclosed to Nettie? The past he so ardently kept hidden from her? Georgia fumed silently and the tears returned with burning pain.

Nettie then began her tale.

T _he creature shut the door to Georgia's room and slinked along the wall of the hallway. Despite his stature, he was quiet and agile. His acute hearing gave him ample warning of the wandering servant. When he heard them coming he would duck behind a curtain or hide in the shadows. He, of course, heard Nettie, he just hadn't expected her to be hiding as well or outwit him. Not even a moment out of his hiding spot and she had him cornered. In her hand was a lantern and she saw all of him. Her eyes grew wide with terror, but she never screamed._

 _It took all of her strength to simply greet him. He responded with almost as much terror. Pulling herself together, Nettie asked him who he was. As she continued bombarding him with questions she became more confident in herself; she was unrelenting in her determination to keep Georgia safe. Nettie directed him to a parlor where she conducted her interview._

 _The creature savored the encounter; this was the first true encounter he had with mankind. He could see that Nettie was afraid of him, but she was giving him the opportunity to appeal to her kind the way he had always hoped._

 _They sat for only a few hours discussing Georgia and what he could do for her. He learned so much about his English love in just one night. She was not so enchanted with wealth and material as he previously believed, and she grieved little over those friends who had so cruelly abandoned her in England. As he listened to Nettie revealing the beautiful details of Georgia he came to understand how alike in spirit they were. Georgia, however, was not prone to the violence the way that he was._

 _But as they neared the end of their conversation, Nettie made it clear what he needed to do. If he was to win Georgia's hand in marriage, he would need money. Nettie, however, failed to understand his plans. She believed the matter to be over, in her mind, it was a task he would never be able to complete._

"So you sent him away," she accused. Georgia felt her heart shattering. Her lip trembled. "You used his love for me to send him away. I thought you cared for me, but you have only added to my misery. The only way I can save myself from the gutter now is to marry up. I've lost love and I am now condemned to a loveless marriage. Nettie, you have broken my trust."

Nettie frowned at her. "Miss Georgia, don't be dramatic. I did this for you. What kind of life would you have had with him? He's not fit for public. Surely you've seen him!"

Georgia stood and paced anxiously by the piano. Her hands went to her ears as a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. "I'm not hearing this. This is a nightmare. He will come. He'll wake me up. This is- this is not happening."

"He is gone, Miss Georgia," Nettie stated. Her arm reached out in an effort to beckon Georgia to her.

"We are finished!" Shrieked Georgia suddenly, causing Nettie jump. Her face was bright red, blotched with bitter anger. Her breathing was ragged from the sudden freedom she allowed her emotions. "This is not the tantrum of a child, this is the fury of a heartbroken woman! We were friends and you betrayed me!"

Before Nettie could say anything in response, Georgia fled the room in a hurricane of emotion. The door to her bedroom shut loudly and was promptly locked. When Nettie felt that her nerves were calm enough she went to Georgia's room only to hear the muffled tears of the girl she'd known for twenty-three years. It broke her heart to hear Georgia in so much pain. Although Nettie felt anguish over her actions, she had acted in Georgia's best interest. The girl would realize it and thank her for it some day. She did what she needed to do to protect someone she loved; she did what anyone would have done in her place. Hadn't she?


	11. Chapter 11

**Updated 6/19/2016**

Chapter 11

 _Eight Months later._

Geneva was horribly cold and grey. With the advent of winter, the sun and the pleasant weather enjoyed during the summer was gone. The bleakness, however, was felt constantly at the house of Sir John. Servants polished the silver ten times a day, Georgia practiced the same scales every day before staring blankly at her piano, and Nettie had read thirty books and knitted what she said was a tablecloth. The atmosphere was entirely mirthless.

Every so often, to Georgia's delight, she would receive a letter, most of them from Elizabeth. At times, Elizabeth seemed optimistic about Victor's recovery, then another letter would come and her writing would be overcome with despair. Georgia would muster the courage to respond to her friend despite her great heartache. But what words of comfort could she offer the other?

The song her poet had given her would be played once a week on the weekly anniversary of their last night together. She would play it once with a mistake or without. When she finished, she would stare at his handwriting and weep. Her bloodshot eyes would devour the Wordsworth poem written in her poet's crude handwriting and her heart would heave.

During the long months of her grieving for love lost, Georgia had lost a considerable amount of weight. Her clothes hung on her loosely and more than once a servant would rush in to pull her clothes together and keep her modest. Her naturally pale skin became a ghostly white and her eyes grew dark and sunken. Her hair was lackluster and limp, she was a shadow of the woman she once was. It grieved those that loved her to see her in such a pitiful state.

At noon Georgia found Nettie sitting in the parlor, mulling over a cup of tea. The months of boycott had taken their toll on her as well. Setting the small porcelain cup aside, Nettie stood when Georgia entered. The two women looked at each other for a moment, but neither truly knew what to say to the other.

"Miss Georgia!" Exclaimed Nettie. Her brown eyes twinkled with unshed tears. At her hips, her hands fidgeted. She was half a spring away from embracing the girl.

"Please, Nettie. Sit."

Nettie complied and Georgia joined her at the table. They sat quietly and uncomfortably, letting the silence pour over them.

"I'm sorry, Nettie," started Georgia. Her lip quivered slightly. Nettie, however, burst into tears. "I have behaved childishly. I—" she paused, trying to find the words "— understand why you did it. I think it is time to find me a husband. I suspect that Sir John will return with news from England shortly. It is best to get this matter resolved."

"Oh, Miss Georgia! If I could undo it all, I would. You will find happiness after all that you've been through."

Georgia set her hand upon the table and Nettie took hold of it immediately. They muttered apologies and wept at the anguish they caused the each other.

"Miss," came a meek voice from the door of the small room. A servant entered the room carrying a large package. "This has just arrived for you, Miss Daniels."

Georgia looked to Nettie for an answer and when none was to be had, Georgia took the large package. On top of the bundle was a letter addressed directly to her from—

"— Who is it from, Georgia?" Asked Nettie urgently. She was near to ripping open the package if Georgia didn't do it herself in a moment.

"Um, a Monsieur Rossignol of Venice, Italy. I thought we were fish out of water: English living abroad in Switzerland. What is a Frenchman doing in Italy and how does he know me?"

She tore open the letter and the finest penmanship greeted her. Her jaw fell in shock for the letter was completely composed in English.

 _My warmest and most humble of salutations Miss Georgia Daniels!_

 _Although you shall doubtlessly find this letter and the contents of the accompanying package to be strange, let me first explain myself before you come to a decision. I have recently come into a large fortune, but I have little skill in the ways of the wealthy class. It was through mutual friends who, at present, must remain a secret, that I first heard of you. The charge of Sir John Lafoy is renowned for her public delicacy and charm. And as I am told, her music. You are well spoken of by the people that love you. As such, I have an interest in entertaining your time if you would be so kind as to allow it._

 _My rise started in the salvaging of lost goods in Venice and many other waterways in the marvelous country of Italy. During my travels of saving lost treasures for others, I came upon my own. Nothing could have prepared me for the excitement this good circumstance has bestowed me. I have the means to host you, Sir John, and any whose company you wish to bring._

 _Upon Sir John's approval, you and your company shall be escorted to Venice. You shall be housed in an apartment in the esteemed Locanda del Fiore di Venezia. I shall see to it that you want for nothing._

 _As to the package you have received, it is my great desire to throw a masquerade ball. The Venetians and French do love their masks. It is it's the best way to make my presence known to the public in Venice since I possess birth defects that are regarded as unsightly. My ploy is now exposed, and I wish to indulge in good company. I trust the gown is to your liking. I await you most eagerly. The ball is set for November 22nd._

 _Your humble admirer and friend,_

 _Monsieur Rossignol_

"Nettie, the package! Open it!" Cried Georgia with wild excitement. She brushed away the ache in her heart. Nettie balked at her in response, but tore back the wrappings and opened the box they hid. Her breath hitched. "Is it a gown?"

"And a mask. Georgia, what is this about?"

For the first time in many months, Georgia smiled a smile that reached her eyes. A phantom of the girl she had been returned. "We're going to Italy."


	12. Chapter 12

**Updated 6/19/16**

"So this is _Locanda del Fiore di Venezia!_ " exclaimed Sir John as they were led to their Venetian apartment. He drew back his hood and gawked at their temporary housing. Windows lined two sides of the main parlor. One side overlooked a courtyard, the other overlooked a waterway.

Once inside, they brushed off the cold and took in the sight of their home. The floor was made of dark polished wood; the top half of the walls were painted a deep blue and garnished with gold flecks of paint, the bottom half of the wall was made of marble and from the marble came carved out columns spread every two yards for support. There were two fireplaces in the great room, a sofa upholstered with a light yellow fabric, a chaise, and several recliners. At the back of the room was card table and several feet from it was pianoforte made of mahogany.

Two doors stood next to each other at one corner of the room. One door led to their bedrooms, the library, and the finest washroom any of them had seen. The other door led to the servants rooms and connected to the kitchen and other passageways that brought the building together. Nettie declared immediately at their arrival that she was tired, proceeded towards the servant's quarters. Without a moment's hesitation, Sir John ordered her to stop and informed her that she was to sleep at the inn as a guest as per the requests of Georgia, Monsieur Rossignol, and himself.

Satisfied with her lot, Nettie helped Georgia to her room. "What an adventure we're in for, Miss. Makes me glad we left England."

"Will you stay here with me, Nettie? I do not wish to be alone. My thoughts are turning dark."

"Of course, I'll stay, dear. What do you mean?"

Georgia sat and removed her shoes and stockings. "My thoughts go to him. I wonder if he is alive and if he is well. I wonder if he has been trying to get back to me from wherever he went and if he is looking for me. Would he be hurt by my coming here?" She asked. _Would he be here?_

Nettie unlaced Georgia's outer dress and helped her into her nightgown.

"I ought to tell you not to go down to that party, Georgia, but I wonder about it myself. When he left me he seemed broken, but there was something brewing in his mind. He risked death by acting as he did, but he did it anyway. And he never hurt you— not when he was still around. I wonder if he has been in as much agony as you."

They both climbed into the bed, forgetting their many months of querling, and resumed their old pattern of two friends gossiping in the night. But where had her poet gone? Would he come back for her if she decided to marry their mysterious host? Her heart was torn in two and her mind was at a loss. She wanted her poet, but this new stranger was offering her things she had only dreamt of.

Sir John was the first to awaken in the apartment and upon entering the parlor he found food and coffee waiting for him. He also found a strange man dressed in a black jacket with gold buttons that ended at his waist, black, formal trousers completed the look. He stood erect when Sir John entered.

"Buongiorno, Signor Lafoy! My name is Bernardo Carlozzi. Signor Rossignol hired me as your translator. He is most eager to know if Signorina Daniels and Signora Blankenship's gowns fit."

"In this weather?" Cried Sir John. Beyond the window, it was raining and grey clouds sat like a dreary blanket over the city. "He wants them out in this?"

"Signor Rossignol desires nothing but their happiness. He has sent over cloaks for the three of you to make the weather more bearable. And the seamstress is but two streets away. Transportation will be waiting for you. Shall I have Signorina Daniels dress sent to the seamstress?"

Sir John nodded and called for his servant, Delia, to wake Georgia and Nettie. "Will Mr. Rossignol be offended if I hire my own translator?"

Bernardo bowed his head slightly, causing his small, round glasses to slide down his nose. "Signor Rossignol encourages it, but I should like to inform you that I am the only translator who speaks English in Venice this season. There are many who speak French."

"Fair enough," conceded Sir John. He made a point of expressing his annoyance to Bernardo. "What can you tell me of Signor Rossignol?" Asked Sir John as he poured himself a coffee. "Why is he so interested in Signorina Daniels?"

If Sir John's tone bothered Bernardo, he didn't show it. Bernardo seemed to expect the interrogation of his boss and was prepared to answer all questions. "As the letter he sent to Signorina Daniels states: Signor Rossignol and the lady share mutual friends who esteemed her to Signor Rossignol. He was quite taken with her."

The door in the corner swung open and through it came Nettie and Georgia, both dressed in preparation for the chill beyond their room. How long had they been up, he wondered, they usually took far too long.

Bernardo introduced himself once more and helped both women to their seats. To Georgia, he handed a folded and sealed note which she promptly tucked away in the folds of her dress. It did not go unnoticed by either Nettie or Sir John.

"As I was saying," continued Bernardo. "Signor Rossignol has an express interest in the lady, he will see to all her needs."

Georgia blushed and fidgeted nervously before slipping a grape into her mouth.

"Signor Rossignol is a good man, but not too social. He is generous, though, so the people of Venice overlook his solitary life. He saved several poorer families by putting them to work preparing for the ball."

Sir John sat back in his chair and proceeded to brush his mustache. "How did Signor Rossignol come into wealth? And Since he is so interested in Miss Georgia we should expect to meet him soon?"

"Soon, I believe, Signor. But Signor Rossignol does not convey all his plans to me. I am simply here to make your stay a comfortable one." Bernardo shuffled his feet, he was unaccustomed to standing for long periods of time. "He was hired by a merchant, Signore Pertoli of Lombardia. Signor Rossignol recovered Signore Pertoli's goods— from a shipwreck, I believe. Signor Rossignol was hired by several other men, but Signore Pertoli was so taken with him that he signed his wealth over to Signor Rossignol just before his death five months ago. Signor Rossignol is an honest man. Not a single man who hired him had anything negative to say about his work."

Sir John seemed content, but he went quiet, mulling over all that Bernardo told him. He was suspicious of Rossignol but doubted that anyone in Venice would give him any other details. Instead, he consented to sending Nettie and Georgia off with Delia and Bernardo. Sir John remained behind, sifting through the apartment in an attempt to uncover all that he could about their host.

"Miss Georgia, that gown is brilliant on you. Monsieur Rossignol chose a very unusual color for you. Pink silk over gold! I feel like a thief just for looking at it," declared Delia behind Signora Pausini, the seamstress.

While the trio of English women talked excitedly about Georgia and Nettie's gowns, the latter of which was significantly less grand, Signora Pausini fussed in a rambling of indecipherable Italian. It was obvious by her tone and tisking at Georgia that she was upset. What she was saying they could only guess without Bernardo to translate. However, with Signora Pausini's incessant jabs at Georgia's frame, they came to understand that the Italian was distressed by Georgia's size.

Georgia's depression had taken a toll on her body, reducing her to a hollowed out girl. She looked better than she had before the dress arrived, but this was difficult to convey to Signora Pausini.

The seamstress tugged at Georgia's arms and frowned at her waist. _"Signor Rossignol non sarà contento! Cosa si può fare?"_ She crossed one arm under the other and pressed her other hand against her temple. _"Ti piacciono i dolci, la Signorina Daniels? Ho biscotti. Togliere l'abito e vieni mangiare. Avremo un caffé troppo."_

When they did nothing but stare at Signora Pausini she gestured wildly for them to remove the gowns and began unlacing Georgia herself. Once free of their gowns the four of them sat in the back parlor of Signora Pausini's shop. She continued speaking quickly in Italian and pointed to the cookies set on a small table for them. When Georgia ate a cookie Signora Pausini lit up, her countenance brightened and she seemed pacified long enough to rest just before another rush of Italian burst from her. She continued to mentioning Rossignol's name several more times. Georgia, however, grew impatient and curious and turned her head to observe every aspect of the parlor.

Fabrics and textiles of all types of colors were put away both neatly and chaotically. Mannequins supported her other projects and her completed garments sat protected in bags hanging on the wall. The paint on the wall was a warm pink and the molding was dark purple; there was a quietness to the room around them that made Georgia forget how much Signora Pausini was talking. But as her eyes scanned the room she caught sight of the cuff of a coat. The cuff was a majestic gold colored fabric stitched into a royal blue material, the coat seemed to mimic the coats the military officers back in England. It was almost like the coat of a prince, but it far superior to what the regent wore whenever he appeared in public.

Georgia's eyes grew wide and she turned to Signora Pausini. "Is that Monsieur Rossignol's?"

 _"Signor Rossignol? Sí!"_

Just as Georgia was about to ask if she could see it, Bernardo entered the parlor. He greeted them in his reserved, almost prudish manner. He entreated the three English women to depart Signora Pausini's shop to return to their apartment. They thanked the talkative Italian and donned their thick cloaks and made their way back to the apartment. Although Delia was a servant and not invited to the ball, her grey eyes drank in the city of waterways and unique bridges. She even found herself at liberty to familiarize herself with Georgia and was, for the first time, included in the relationship between Nettie and Georgia. It would be an adventure she would never forget.

When Georgia was sure everyone, including Nettie had gone to bed she quietly crept into the parlor and lit a candle. She shivered in the night and convinced herself that she would simply appease her curiosity and then return to bed. She pulled out the note that Bernardo had given her earlier and read as carefully as she could in the small light.

 _Dear Miss Georgia,_

 _I am utterly smitten with you. It is brash— bold— according to some, and even imprudent to most of society. But I pride myself on being unconventional. This may all seem strange to you and I am glad, if this were normal I believe you would find me dull._

 _I trust Bernardo is not too cold? For being one of the few people here who speaks English he seems to harbor no love for them. He will convey my letters to you. I ask that you send but one letter in reply as Sir John would not find them to be prudent._

 _We shall meet at the ball, but not before. This must all sound like a fairytale to you and even to me at times, but my only desire is your happiness. I am completely at your mercy._

 _Until the ball,_

 _forever yours,_

 _M. Rossignol_

Georgia read the note once more. Rossignol struggled to collect his thoughts and had not understood the impropriety of his actions. She blushed profusely, but she was not disturbed. Something about him seemed so familiar and she began to entertain an idea she kept entirely to herself.

 **"** ** _Signor Rossignol non sarà contento! Cosa si può fare?"_** **"** ** _Ti piacciono i dolci, la Signorina Daniels? Ho biscotti. Togliere l'abito e vieni mangiare. Avremo un caffé troppo."_**

 **Translation: "Mr. Rossignol will not be pleased! What can you do?" "Do you like sweets, Miss Daniels? I have cookies. Remove the dress and come eat. We will have a coffee too . "**


	13. Chapter 13

**I read through it several times to make it sound good, so if I missed something (which I am sure I did) let me know. This is a horror/romance story, so there will be death upon us soon. If you have time, leave me a review or pm me. Enjoy! Updated 6/19/16**

Chapter 13

In seven grueling hours Georgia would finally meet her benefactor. Nettie was almost as excited as she, but Sir John kept a cautious reserve. He certainly would not have been pleased with her if he knew of the other letters Monsieur Rossignol sent her or the one she sent that simply read:

 _Are you my poet?_

At breakfast, she was eager to see Bernardo and what he might have for her. To her annoyance, he arrived late to their apartment, causing her anxiety to fester. When he finally arrived he bowed to the three of them and offered his apologies.

Bernardo appeared flustered and annoyed but claimed it was due to the impending ball. There were additional tasks that he was obligated to see too, although he would not say what those obligations were. He straightened his tailcoat and then handed Georgia the note she was so eager to possess.

Georgia went to tuck the note away when Sir John stopped her. Finally exercising the rights he had over her as her guardian, he demanded to know what the note contained. Georgia blanched. What if the note was from her poet? She had not yet told Sir John of her nightly visitor, how could she? What if this note contained the reminders of their secret kisses? Their longing for one another? Worse yet! What if Rossignol wasn't her poet and grew angry with her for her secret rendezvous?

Sir John, however, grew annoyed that she sat before him pale as a ghost and showing no signs of obeying him. He demanded once more to see the note, unaware of her internal struggle. His calm reserve was fading fast. Sir John had given more than he had ever expected and all he asked in return was that she honor her father's memory and be happy. How could she then sneak around like a commoner, with no sense of propriety? How could she let a strange man lead her astray? It cut him deeply at the thought of how distraught her father would be.

"It simply says _'I shall see you tonight at the ball_ '. See for yourself, Sir John. Nothing else." The taste in her mouth was bitter. She had one chance to write him and it was wasted. The mystery wouldn't be solved until later. She cast her eyes to the window and frowned at the weak sun as Sir John read the note; night seemed so far away.

"So it does. For your blessed father's sake, conduct yourself in the manner of a woman of your station. I will not—" he stopped for a moment to try and control his temper "— have you subjected to the open ridicule and gossip that I faced in England. Bernardo! These notes are to stop until Signor Rossignol presents himself to me and declares his intention for Georgia. And Georgia," he added with a cold look. "You are to turn over his other notes. Any felicitations that I deem unpardonable will be the end of this trip and our relationship with Signor Rossignol."

Sir John was angrier than she had ever seen him. Why would he turn from what Rossignol offered to them? She was willing to seal her heart for the Frenchman offering them safety and security. She was willing to pretend to love Rossignol when her heart belonged to her poet if it meant that Sir John would not be ruined and if it meant that they would be safe. Why was he unwilling to compromise? With as much wealth as Rossignol claimed to have the nobles in England would flock to Sir John, they might even forget what caused Sir John's fall from grace.

"People say and do cruel things to others simply for a laugh, Georgia. I do not want you to be taken advantage of. I spent my life hiding and it brought you to ruin. I need honesty from Rossignol in order to honor your father's wishes."

Silence fell on the three of them before Georgia turned to Bernardo. "Signor, will you bring us tea? Coffee keeps us alert, but is ineffective in quieting our nerves."

Bernardo nodded, bowed, and left. The weight of the room he quitted was immense and threatened to bring their apartment down on the one below. There was nothing they could do to amend the past so their thoughts turned to the present. Georgia rose from her seat and left to collect the other notes Rossignol had written to her.

When she returned, she handed the precious letters to Sir John. As he read through Rossignol's letters Georgia tried to eat and forget her anxiety. The poem from her poet was something Sir John could never see, even if it was composed by Wordsworth and not himself. But there was such a connection between her poet and Rossignol. Georgia's hand trembled as she ate a biscuit.

"Keats? Georgia, there are three Keats poems in this letter. He has no shame in his flirtations. But now I understand why." He was exasperated with her, but no longer angry.

 _"'Miss Georgia,_

 _It is_ with _the greatest despair that I confess my reasoning behind hosting a masquerade. I am unsightly and deformed. I have the greatest capacity for love and I am told that I am matched in this regard by you alone. Thus, fair maiden of the north! I have composed an evening of joy that I might present myself to you and your guardians._ If, _by Sir John's leave, you accept me despite my deformities I shall be the happiest of creatures. But despair not, Miss Georgia, for if you decline me then we shall part amicably._

 _I am at your service until you are returned to your home._

 _Your humble servant,_

 _M. Rossignol'"_

Georgia's heart knotted. Rossignol _had_ to be her poet. She was sick with desperation to know. Another biscuit found its way into her mouth. Sir John folded the notes and returned them to her. His anger subsided, but he looked to Georgia with an unnerving amount of sorrow. He would present her to Rossignol, but she was to remain near both Nettie and Sir John at all times. If Rossignol wanted a private audience with her, he would have one with him first. To this Georgia agreed, but her heartfelt conflicted beyond anything she could have imagined.

The sun, weakened as it was from the impending winter, descended beyond the boundary of sight. With night came the twinkling of lights and the voices of the ball's unknown guests. They were gathered in the courtyard below and followed several halls that would lead them to their evening entertainment. From the windows, Georgia watched the array of colors, costumes, and masks as they embarked on their joyous journey.

Georgia touched her silken gown, an envy of the Rococo period. The underdress was a soft, silken pink, as was her corset. The outer dress was a brilliant gold and swept along the floor. Her sleeves fell in silken ruffles at her elbows. When her mask was tied to her face she felt majestic, almost like a queen. The looking glass revealed a creature unknown to her.

The mask concealed her forehead, nose, and half her cheeks beneath her eyes. The coloring was the same pale pink as her dress and was accented by raised, gold-plated wires that formed patterns against the frame. White lace offered one additional composition of the beautiful garnishment. Georgia felt beautiful and powerful. Whoever Rossignol was he was giving her an evening she wouldn't forget.

Excitement hung in the air like electricity after a storm. Georgia was eager to leave and learn the truth. She sighed as she waited for Sir John and Nettie to emerge from their rooms and out into the parlor. After what felt like an hour both Nettie and Sir John finally emerged in their masks and costumes. Sir John helped both women into their cloaks before leading them to the bustling scene below. Georgia's excited left her petering on her feet, ready to race to her destination like an impatient child.

They followed the crowd past the courtyard of _Locando del Fiore di Venezia_ to a building on the other side. An old theater, they were told, only recently converted to house parties such as the one they were attending. Both Nettie and Georgia were swept away by the colors and unfamiliar sounds around them. In the distance, they heard an orchestra playing songs neither had ever heard before. There was a roar of laughter and a sea of voices crying out in Italian delight, marveling at the splendor of their host.

Shimmering golden light invaded their sight when they finally entered the ballroom. With their cloaks filed away, they felt only a breath of the cold air from the outside; they were surrounded by strangers, roaring fires, and a multitude of candelabras. Georgia, once again, felt more like a queen than a fallen gentry girl. She blushed profusely from the unashamed stares the other guests were giving her. She quickly became aware that she was the only one in gold and pink and to her horror, the only one dressed in light colors. There was an overwhelming display of deep colored gowns and suits. Rossignol made sure she stood out. But where was he?

"Signorina Daniels, Signora Blankenship, Signor Lafoy, are you ready to meet your host and benefactor?" Asked Bernardo who seemed to emerge from the air like a phantom.

Had they overlooked him? Or was she just that easy to find? Yes, she was easy to find.

He led them through the throngs of people and food that circulated the golden hall, to a smaller room where several merchants and other men were gathered. In one corner stood a man towering above those gathered around him. He was locked in a conversation with an Italian beauty dressed in a deep red gown. She seemed taken with the gentleman and continuously inched closer to him. He gave her his attention until Bernardo approached and his conversation with the Italian was finished. The tall man straightened and fixed his masked gaze on Georgia. She felt her cheeks go warm, this most certainly was Rossignol. He wore the blue coat with golden cuffs, the same one she saw at Signora Pausini's shop. His mask, however, was not like anyone else's. It hid his entire face, exposing only his chin so that he could speak easily. Gold paint and white lace added a gentleness to the mask that exuded a burning intensity.

"Signor Rossignol, may I present Signor—"

"Sir John Lafoy, Ms. Nettie Blankenship, and Miss Georgia Daniels, whom you are so intimately familiar with," interjected Sir John. His mask was simple and neglected to hide his frustration.

Rossignol bowed to them and they returned the gesture. He then indicated that they were to follow him to a quieter room. They obeyed, to the disappointment of the Italian woman excluded from the party. As they followed behind Rossignol, Georgia noticed that binding his black hair was a blue ribbon she hadn't seen in months.

"Nettie," she hissed. The two leaned close to one another as they passed into a private study hidden from the view of the masquerade attendees. "It's him! My poet."

She nodded. "I believe it is. I am so sorry, Georgia, for what I put you through."

Georgia, however, only wanted to hear her poet speak. She had to know. For months his voice lingered like a dimming fire in her mind, it needed to roar back to life. As she beheld him walking ahead of her, murmuring to Sir John, she felt the urge to take his gloved hand into hers. She wanted to untie the ribbon that bound his hair at the nape of his neck and remove the mask that kept his lips from hers.

Once they were all in the study, they sealed themselves in, Rossignol motioned for them to sit. Georgia could barely contain herself. She looked to Sir John, silently urging him to say his part. A layer of sweat formed on her hands.

"Sir John, please, ask your questions," invited Rossignol. His voice set Georgia's heart on fire. It was him! The soft, odd inflection of his gentle voice cried out to her spirit.

"Your behavior has been immodest and Miss Georgia has suffered enough ridicule, she doesn't need anymore. I will get to the point: what is your intention with her? And who is this mutual friend you speak of in your letters? Only the Italians have ever heard of you."

Rossignol's masked eyes fell on Georgia. They were blue; a perfect watery, glassy blue, just as he said they were. Her breath hitched and she felt her mind swirl. They were certainly unlike anything she had ever seen. But they looked upon her with such tender affection that she quickly forgot their oddness.

"My intentions are honorable although my actions may have been less so. I wish to marry Miss Daniels and I have sought to deserve her and prove that I could protect her. As to our friend, it is Frankenstein. I assure you that it is the patriarch and not the one who assaulted Miss Daniels.

"I was, however, at the time of our meeting, unable to offer her anything to make my deformities seem less apparent," he ended hopelessly. Georgia felt a tinge of anger at his preemptive judgment of her.

"You are the one she has mourned for these many months then? You are well liked here, but I have never heard of you. How fortunate that the Frankensteins are indisposed and cannot speak to your character."

Rossignol seemed annoyed by Sir John's accusations but he hid it well. "I take no pleasure in the pain I have caused by leaving Miss Daniels. But I am not as unworthy as you believe; I have my documents, all confirming my rise to wealth to be true and honest. It is for Miss Daniels that I have opened myself up to the scrutiny of others. It is the wealth that I have acquired that has kept the vultures at bay. I offer Miss Daniels the same sanctuary."

"He speaks the truth, Sir John," offered Nettie. She became visibly shaken and the creature wondered for a moment if she would finally release her contempt for him. Would she scream and call him a monster? He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Georgia was the person he needed to focus on.

Rossignol's voice was muffled slightly by the mask, but it carried a pleading and hopeful tone. "Miss Daniels, pray do not let the men of the world decide your fate. Speak, _mon_ perce-neige."

A smile flittered across her face. Her mask shifted slightly from the movement causing her to readjust it. "Why the name ' _Rossignol_ '? Nightingale?"

A subtle laugh escaped him. "Is it not obvious? You are my muse and songbird. I chose it so that I could feel close to you. And—" he said looking back at Sir John through his mask. "— when society tossed me out I wandered the forests of central Europe. In the woods, I beheld the sweetest music of flittering songbirds whose melodies filled me with courage and love of all that is beautiful."

"A poet through and through," declared Georgia. She radiated with joy. It took all that she had not to reach out her hands or fall at his knees. "Am I to understand, Monsieur Rossignol, that you are asking me to marry you?"

Beneath his mask, he was pained and troubled. If she could see his face she would have been able to see the frown on his lips. This was the moment he had spent months planning for and he was filled with utter terror. "Yes, Miss Daniels. But before you answer I ask, by your leave, Sir John, that you dance with me. When we are finished we shall return to this room and you shall behold my disfigurement. If your heart is turned from me then I will release you from any promise and we shall part amicably."

Georgia shook her head aggressively. "I could never turn away from you! I am not so fickle as society would have men believe."

Rossignol smiled. How it hurt to control his desire for her! "My heart is warmed by your declaration, my lady. But I shall not deny you the option of rejection."

"Then let us dance!" She cried, snapping to her feet. Her blood was rushing. Months of tortured aggravation and Georgia was ready for it to end.

Sir John nodded. He was far from approving of the situation, but he was interested to see how Georgia would respond to their host revealing his appearance. He knew Georgia wasn't shallow and had been scorned several times before, but what would she do when the tables were turned? Would she scorn someone for something they could not help?

Rossignol rose to his feet after her and once again towered over everyone. He extended his hand to Georgia, her fingers wrapped around his hand, desperate to be touching them once more. Nettie and Sir John rose as well and followed behind Rossignol as he led Georgia out to the ball room.

The beautiful Italian watched as Rossignol led Georgia to the floor. She fumed quietly to herself but neither Georgia nor the creature built by Frankenstein noticed. Rossignol gestured to the orchestra to prepare a waltz. He lifted one of Georgia's hands in his and placed his other hand upon her lower back. He pulled her close, causing Georgia to gasp and blush. Her free hand reached up to his shoulder where she nervously dusted his coat. He whispered to her and then motioned for the band to play. A shrill of notes sounded and Georgia soon found herself spinning in a waltz.

His dance skills were impressive and if she had not known him better she would have believed that he was actually an Italian, an exceedingly romantic one as well. Their dance was unlike anything she had known in England or in Switzerland. This was something gallant and bold, something a king would do, not a fallen gentry and an elusive stranger. It was like gliding and Rossignol was too proficient at the waltz to allow her to falter. Soon she found herself understanding the measures and beats of the music, thus cracking the code of the waltz.

Their circles were large and he made sure that each time he spun her their audience would have to retreat to avoid a collision. He wanted everyone to see them and know that they were together. The people of Venice would not look on him with scorn or disgust, but with admiration and joy. Was this what happiness was? He thought so as Georgia smiled and laughed throughout their dance. He wanted her to be happy and to remember the joy she was feeling in that moment if it all came to a horrible end.

When their waltz ended, another slower, longer waltz started. It was simpler than the one before and they were no longer left in solitude when Rossignol's other guests joined them.

"I am sorry for what I put you through," he whispered sadly. She gazed at him with a blank expression, not understanding what he meant. He then elaborated. "I'm sorry for deserting you. You're so much thinner and paler. It grieves me to know that I did this to you."

"I was heartbroken," she replied after a while. "And I found out that Nettie had met you and sent you away. She and I have only recently resolved our issues. The abandonment I felt at my father's death didn't compare to what I felt when you left. But now," she declared with a grin, "I have quite forgotten those feelings. You are forgiven as long as you never do it again."

This he could consent too. "If you marry me, I never will. I will be with you until the end of time. I left because Nettie gave me an idea. I needed to prove myself capable of providing for you and I have. You need not fear poverty— even if you decline to marry me."

Georgia clung to Rossignol. "How could you think I would say no to you? I love you. Beauty only grows with love."

She could hear his gentle laughter. "You are an angel. If only you knew you converse with a devil. I love you so much that no amount of pain or anguish could ever make me stop loving you. But you must learn of my past, my origin, and my deeds."

"Just the bad? Or the good as well?"

He looked down at her, her green gaze was more intense than the burning sun. If he could kiss her, then and there, he would. "I will tell you all that you need to know and want to know. As I said in my note: 'I am at your mercy'."

They continued their waltz despite the attention they were receiving. Rossignol narrated his journey to Italy and his utter agony at leaving the comfort she offered him, but it was necessary. In the beginning, he had been lonely and fearful of the welcome he would receive. But he hunted the markets, listening for an opportunity to appear. One did. A merchant had lost his goods further south of Venice in a careless shipwreck. His wealth remained intact, but no one would retrieve it for him; no one takes what Poseidon claims. To take it, one would be cursed. At this, Georgia laughed, she was surprised that such a belief existed amongst such renowned Catholics. But old pagan fears still dwelt in the populace.

The creature, of course, feared nothing of the likes. His life was as cursed as a life could be. He approached the merchant one evening and said he would take a small payment in return for retrieving the lost goods. The merchant agreed and the deal was struck. Rossignol took a boat out to the site and spent several days hauling all of it back to shore. When the task was completed and him near dead with exhaustion the merchant beheld his lost goods and Rossignol's hideous form. The creature did not shy away from this point in his narration.

At first, the merchant was fearful but he quickly realized what sort of undertaking he had pressed upon such a stranger and he was moved with compassion. The merchant gave Rossignol his first mask and his first job, saving his life and securing his future.

"You have led a very interesting life without me," she observed as he spun her once more around the dance floor.

"It would have been far better with you," he answered. He could feel her heart pounding in her ribs. The flush of her chest told him that she was just as excited as he, but that would soon end.

"I want to see you, my poet."

The end had now come and it was ushered in by the ending of their waltz. He bowed at the end of the dance and led her past the throngs of admirers to the study with Nettie and Sir John in tow.

At the study's door, Rossignol stopped and turned the two behind him. "Please, remain just outside. This is for Miss Daniels only."

The agony he was enduring! Could they not dance forever and let that be their life? He led Georgia into the room and shut the door behind them.

Georgia went to one side of the study and untied her mask, she set it on top a sofa and waited for him. It seemed to both that it took forever for him to reach her. As he gazed upon her hungered face he could not help but believe her beauty was no less diminished.

She reached for his hands and when he presented them she removed his gloves. The hands she had grasped so often were now hers to behold and she found them to be beautiful. Smooth as polished marble, their only oddness was the coloring that adorned them: a soft pale white with patches of faint red beneath layers of skin. The first time she saw his hands she mistook them for being grey. Georgia pressed his hand to her face. A tear fell from her eye and he quickly swept it away with his thumb.

"I leave the rest to you," he uttered, kneeling before her.

"I'm frightened," she wept.

His thumbs cleared away several more fallen tears. "Of me?" He asked, suddenly troubled by what he was asking.

Shaking her head she revealed that she feared what removing his mask would do to them. He encouraged her and placed her smaller hands on his mask. Her fingers went behind his head to untie it. Blood rushed past her ears and her heart thundered so violently in her chest that she wondered if she would faint. Her hands trembled as she removed the cover. Rossignol's hand reached up quickly to catch the mask should she drop it.

It was off, he was utterly exposed to her. He hadn't been so open since the De Laceys and Frankenstein had seen him, all of whom loathed what they saw. But Georgia said nothing. She neither moved, nor screamed, and he quickly realized she was holding her breath.

"Georgia, scream if you must, but breathe." His face contorted in agony, making her release her breath and gasp. "Let me put the mask back on, Miss Daniels."

Georgia was frozen. The face staring at her was pale and blotchy, as if struggling to darken with the plump hue of vitality. His glassy eyes stared at her from dark, sunken sockets. Like the thick branches of trees, his black eyebrows hooded his trembling gaze. The flesh she touched and kissed in the months past was bare before her. His skin was more elastic than it had been the first time she touched it; the odd crinkling of his flesh didn't seem as evident. She could not quite discern how she felt about him. He wasn't beautiful, not conventionally, but he wasn't as hideous as he had led her to believe.

"No," she said at last. Her face contorted in horror. The creature's face dropped when he saw the familiar look.

"Only someone as ugly as I am could love me." He lifted his mask. How he wished it could cover his eyes and conceal the tears of his now broken heart.**

"No!" She gasped and pushed the mask back down. Georgia took his face in her hands. No longer able to stop himself, tears fell from Rossignol's watery eyes. The look of horror was gone, replaced with joy, happiness, and amusement. "Georgia," she said. "You may only call me 'Georgia', or 'my love'. 'My wife'. 'Madame Rossignol'. But 'Miss Daniels' is no more."

The creature felt light and his lips began trembling fiercely. "Do you mean—"

"That I accept your proposal? Yes! And, my poet, you are not ugly. Different? Yes. But ugly? Never!"

He wept loudly; the relief he felt was immense. Georgia reached out and untied the ribbon holding his black hair at bay and took hold of the tresses. She moved closer to him and brought his lips to hers. There was a hungry desperation to the way his lips fit hers. He couldn't stop and neither could she. Arms then reached around her waist and she was lifted into the air as he stood to his full height. He then spun her around. Her laughter filled the air as they momentarily broke from their kiss.

"You have done more for me than I could ever say. I will devote my life to making you happy." He kissed her once more, savoring the taste of her flesh. All the anguish he had known from the first day of his creation faded like the remains of a dream. The villagers he stumbled upon when he first roamed, ignorant as a baby, was nothing more than a shadow. The De Lacey's clung to his heart, but he felt them fading into memory. Georgia was now his world, his muse, and angel.

The image of the mate Victor promised resurfaced in his mind. Could he have made her happy? Could she have made him happy? All the while Georgia would suffer poverty and ruin. Oh! How strange this world worked! Georgia was bursting with joy, joy at being with him. But then his sins returned to haunt and remind him of his crimes.

"Georgia, my love, I have a confession. I don't know how to say it. I have done—"

She silenced him with a kiss. Whatever he needed to say they would have the rest of their lives to say it. Her fingers graced over his coat, enjoying the feel of the fabric as she thought about how wonderful it would be to remove. Every one of her senses was on fire and she was glad, she wanted to remember every second for the rest of her life. Georgia won him over, he would eventually tell her about the murders and pray that she would forgive him. For now, though, he would feed his desire for love.

Rossignol's lips traveled to her jaw and then slowly to her neck. Her gasp made him hungry for more, almost delirious for it. She went weak in his arms, but he held her close as he suckled the flushed skin of her neck. Her breath hitched before he brought forth the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. A deep moan erupted from Georgia, sending a jolt of electricity through him. He fought back his urge to rip her gown off, he fought all the painful urges to love her body completely. With a deep, and shaky breath, he ceased his movements, no longer dragging his tongue against her soft flesh. He rested his face against the curve of her neck, feeling her quivering in his arms.

"My darling, it is taking every bit of my strength to keep from removing your dress and loving every centimeter of your body this moment. We should return to the ball and announce our engagement." Every nerve in his mismatched body was screaming for her.

"Can't we stay like this?" She asked breathlessly. "We could run from here tonight and marry. Forget the rules and decorum. We'll exist in our own world."

Good God! How perfect her plan sounded. This had been his plan for the mate that never was. He was going to take the creature made for him to South America to dwell forever in the wilds. But that was his plan for a creature unfit for humanity. Georgia was altogether different; she was from a world he longed for. He needed to protect her and cherish her in her world, not steal her away. The suffering he would endure to see her content and happy was beyond comparison. He would not see her struggle in the wilderness when he knew she would not survive it.

Rossignol moved and kissed her forehead softly, stealing the scent of her hair and sealing it away in his deep vault of memories. She was immortal in his mind, forever frozen like the image of a princess clad in pink and gold. An announcement of their engagement would make him an honest and honorable man and a creature worthy of love.

Georgia sighed softly as she realized that he would not concede to her plan. Tears of joy fell from her bright eyes, the creature was quick to wipe them away with tender kisses. She laughed and embraced him once more. "Okay, my love, lets—"

A great shrill of screams and shrieking erupted from the beyond their sanctuary. Georgia paled, but the creature hardened his face and moved her behind him. "Stay here. Barricade yourself inside. Open the door for no one but me."

He reached for the door handle just as Georgia went for his mask. She instructed him to put it on once more. He looked at her with sad eyes, her request stung. Then his face changed and he smiled, not a kind smile, but one of understanding. Before he could press the mask against his inhuman face, the door to the study burst open. The volume of shrieking increased tenfold. In the doorway stood a frightened Nettie and a horrified Sir John.

"You're like that. . . monster!" Sir John blurted.

Georgia cringed at his words before locking her arm around Rossignol. Both hurt and anger flashed over his face, distorting the image of love and peace she had previously seen. For a moment disgust filled her before the shame of her thoughts brought back her love for him. She clung even tighter to him.

"Sir John," barked the creature. "What monster? What person looks like me when I am the only one? What has happened?"

Sir John shook his head and backed away briefly. "A man— a creature— he ripped the heart out of that Italian girl you were with earlier. H-he killed someone else. Georgia, we must leave!"

"No! Stay here. Lock yourselves in. Nothing will happen to my bride." The creature quickly fastened the mask to his face. "When it is safe, I will return."

The creature stepped out into the hall where people ran past him. Several screamed for him in Italian, but he aggressively encouraged them to flee. Hardly a few feet from the study and Rossignol noticed he wasn't alone. Sir John secured the study and accompanied Rossignol past the rush of panicked Italians screaming and crying. Whatever had ruined his ball and murdered his guest was still prowling around. It didn't take them long to find him.

Gathered in a half circle Rossignol's guests brandished sabers worn with their costumes. They held their weapons pointed at the crouching creature lingering by his two victims: the beautiful Italian and a man Rossignol knew to be in love with her. Seeing the Italian girl's wide, terrified eyes filled him with immense guilt. She was infatuated with his position and wealth so he allowed her to remain near him until Georgia arrived. She was dead because of him. Would he always condemn the innocent?

Their murderer remained close to them, clutching at his filthy body like a madman consumed by his own demons. Tattered rags clung to his misshapen form. The creature before him reminded Rossignol of his earlier days of utter ignorance. Telltale scars poked from beneath the rags and slashed through his skin like a heedless volcano pouring out its rivers of molten lava. Blond hair decorated his scalp in tufts as most of his hair was burnt off, leaving the skin and hair tough and singed. From behind he was grotesque to behold, but when he turned, even Frankenstein's creation cringed in disgust. A horrid, thick scar cut from the murderer's forehead diagonally down to his chin, sealing one of his eyes shut and utterly ruining his lips. Only a few teeth poked out from his mouth and his swollen tongue made it impossible to know if he had more teeth.

He hissed when he saw Rossignol and a looked of bewildered curiosity passed over his sickening features. "Bra-broth-brother," he stuttered.

The Italians shuddered at the sound of his voice. But for Rossignol, his evening took a much darker turn. Appalling horror pumped through his blood. He knew this man. He knew what he had been and by his wretchedness, he knew what he was. Rossignol wanted to cry and scream. He wanted to run to Georgia and confess that he wanted to elope and flee all of society, but he remained perfectly still, unable to fully understand what he was seeing.

Rossignol took a deep breath. "Felix?"


	14. Chapter 14

**This is a short one. I will do my best to post a chapter next weekend, but I can't make any promises. I am preparing to take an exam to make me a certified pharmacy technician. Wish me luck!**

 **Also, in the previous chapter (thank you for the reviews) Rossignol made a comment about how "only someone as ugly as [him] could love [him]." That was taken from "Frankenstein" when he was pleading for a mate from Victor.**

 **Leave a review! Please and thank you.**

Chapter 14

What happened when he fled the cottagers that taught him so much? He had run from them, heartbroken, after several blows from an angry Felix. Rossignol had loved them so much, but they reviled and feared him. Every memory of them except the last was perfect and beautiful. Despite his unrivaled fury and pain he often wished them well. It was from them that he learned to read, write, and speak. He knew humility in the face of poverty. From the De Lacey's, his little cottagers, he learned about love and beauty. They taught him to love Georgia.

But what happened to them?

The creature had gone back to that cottage just once to find that they had abandoned the property. Their parting didn't just tear his heart, it split his soul. It was the first true taste of abandonment and it brought out the darker, wilder side of him. Where had they gone when they fled? Questions burned through his mind.

As he gazed upon the ruined view of Felix he knew that the De Lacey's met Frankenstein. But why deny his creation a mate only to turn around and destroy a family? Fury pulsed through him, he fought the urge to lash out in some way.

"Felix?" Rossignol asked once more, suppressing the trembling of his body. The sabers of his Italian guests remained poised, but they were nervous and curious about the murderous monster's connection to their charming host.

"Where is Agatha, Felix? Where is Eva?" He asked. He dreaded the answer. If the beautiful blond man with soft brown eyes was the wretch now before him, what hope was there for the rest of the family? What happened to his very first dance partner, Eva? Rossignol stood before the Italians, Sir John, and the mangled Felix, grateful that a mask hid his horror. His stomach churned violently.

"A-Agata! Agatha! Agatha!" Screeched Felix. His one eye grew wild and demented. He then began screaming as if terrified. He screeched her name several more times before saying his own name and weeping. As Rossignol watched the shadow of his former benefactor he realized that it was merely a performance. Felix was acting out Agatha's terror.

This was Frankenstein's work, but Rossignol wondered why? Why had he tormented Agatha with the horror of her dead and distorted husband? But this was not her husband, this being was not Felix. This creature was something Rossignol had compared himself to in the past; this abhorrent creature was purely demonic and lacked any notion of love that Rossignol cherished.

The Italians were visibly shaken and disturbed, but none were brave enough to run their sabers through the wretched man. Rossignol turned to Sir John and his muffled voice came out with firm authority.

"Take Georgia to the apartment. Be ready to leave—"

"Gee-oh!" Screamed the marred Felix excitedly. He then lifted his bloody hand to show that the Italian girl's heart was still clutched in his fingers.

One of the men, Federico, turned and lowered his saber. The night's cocktails and h'orderves spilled out onto the marble floor. Felix hissed and sputtered.

"Gee-orgee-ah! Ha ha!" He crushed the heart, causing blood to squirt out. Felix then licked the dripping blood.

Rossignol paled beneath his mask, Felix had been sent to kill Georgia and thought himself successful. He could not fathom why his father would go through this much trouble to ruin his happiness. Were they not yet even in their misery? Was Victor so determined to see his creation entirely desolate?

"Take them," ordered Rossignol, as he grew beyond furious. Unfathomable rage surged through him. "Do whatever you must, but be gone in the hour. Let no one see her."

"He'll follow! Cried Sir John in horror as Felix began consuming the heart he thought belonged to Georgia. "I thought there were similarities between the two of you, but he-he's a—"

"Monster?" Interjected Frankenstein's first born. He wanted to vomit at the sight of Felix and he wanted to die as Felix began eating the girl's heart. "Yes, he is. I doubt he would follow even if he could. He will not leave here unless he is a corpse or in chains, you have my absolute word on that. Now, take my bride from here and deliver her safely home."

Sir John stepped back. Felix, however, took no notice of him, he was fixated on his meal.

"Tell her that I love her." Rossignol's heart felt like glass thrown from the highest window of a building. Everything he'd spend months planning, preparing, and cultivating were over. He could have no rest or content until he knew why Victor wanted Georgia dead. Nothing had ever led Rossignol to believe his father would harm anyone except him. Victor certainly would not have willingly made another being like him, there had to be more to it. Had Henry's death really been what unhinged Frankenstein? Now, the creature truly did regret the murder, he regretted his passion since it could cost Georgia her life.

"Go," he pleaded with hidden tears leaving tracks on his ashen face. The pitiful sound of his own voice broke his heart.

Sir John turned raced back to the study where he pressed himself against the door. "Open the door, we have to go."

They unlocked the door and Sir John pushed his way inside. He quickly shut and locked the door to the study. "We heard screaming and shouting. Sir John, what is happening? What has happened? Where is Rossignol? Oh, God. Is he hurt?"

Georgia made for the door, but the harsh grip of Sir John stopped her. "Take my cloak and throw it over your head. Do not speak or look around as we leave. Rossignol is dealing with it, but he has ordered us to leave. Now."

"No! I have to see him!" Georgia was near to tears and frantic. She made a feeble attempt at fighting Sir John to let her out.

"Listen! He loves you, my dear. He wants you safe. Your father would haunt me from the grave if anything happened to you."

Sir John then removed his coat and threw it over the sobbing woman. He carefully open the study door and peered into the hall. They could hear Rossignol speaking to the wretch in French and when there came no response from Felix he switched to German, and then Italian, and then back to English. There was some recognition of English, but Felix just shrieked at Rossignol's questions, startling Nettie and Georgia. He motioned for both of them to remain quiet and the trio made their way through the overturned ballroom.

Candelabras and drinks lay shattered on the floor. Lost purses with coins scattered around them lay dispersed throughout their path. When they passed the coat room they knew it was hopeless to find their cloaks. Many cloaks remained and they were all torn across the floor. Even the servants had abandoned the ball at the sound of screaming. They emerged in the cold night and ran for their apartment. They were no longer quiet, just determined to be away from the shrieking of Felix and the cold. When at last they reached the apartment, they saw the local police arriving with their guns ready.

Georgia panicked, she wondered what they would do if they saw Rossignol's face, but Sir John tugged at her roughly and pulled her into the safety of their apartment. The servants were made awake and panicked when the trio entered and Sir John ordered them to be ready to leave then and there.

In a flurry, frightened servants raced around the apartment, gathering their belongings. Delia helped Georgia and Nettie pack their garments and other items. All three grew frustrated that they made themselves so comfortable only to flee suddenly. Sir John sent an older Italian servant for the carriage and gathered his own belongings.

"Your dress, Miss Georgia," cried Delia as she made to help Georgia out of her gown.

"We haven't got time, you silly girl. Get her coat and then pack your own belongings. Ron will be in to get her trunks. Georgia, your letters," offered Nettie. Rossignol's letters to her were bound together with a ribbon. Georgia snatched them and held them close to her chest, even going so far as to shoving the letters into her dress and using her coat to keep it in place.

They were finished in thirty minutes but their carriage took an additional fifteen even after they quitted the apartment and crossed over several bridges just to reach the stables. Ron, their older servant who came to Italy with them, rode atop the carriage with Sir John and their driver. Both kept a watchful lookout as they carted off a carriage of frightened women into the night.

In the carriage the three women huddled together to keep warm. Finally feeling the weight of the evening, Georgia began weeping. "We were together! After all these months, we were reunited and then suddenly we're parted again. We were going to announce our engagement. Oh, Rossignol," she wept sadly into Nettie's arms.

"A girl was murdered, Georgia, at his party. He must see to this. I'm sure he'll return to you soon. Hold on to the positive that came out of this trip. Remember his love for you until you are reunited once more." She then smiled. "Does Rossignol have a first name? Also, I stole a deck of cards before we left."

"Cards!" Delia cried in dismay. "In a carriage? We've hardly any light. Miss Georgia is hardly in a state to play cards. Or talk. Nettie, look at her!"

"Hush, Delia. We've an empty seat across from us to lay out the deck. Since you object to livening the mood you can deal the first hand."

 **AAAHHHH I split them up again. Rossignol has a lot of work to do now to save everything he worked so hard for.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Alright! I am so sorry for the delay. I was studying and preparing for a pharmacy tech exam and my face erupted in pain. I have spent two weeks trying to get it resolved and after being misdiagnosed twice I went to see an oral surgeon. 10 years ago I had jaw surgery and for whatever reason, one of my plates and screws decided to act up. I am having them removed in a month so hopefully the pain will go away. Worry not! I will be fine, it should not be an intense surgery and I am going home right after it as far as I know. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. :)**

Chapter 15

The evening had not gone according to plan. Not even a little. Well, perhaps a little: Georgia agreed to be his wife. She had finally seen what he looked like and didn't recoil. It was the best thing that ever happened and was ultimately the reason everything went so horribly wrong. Amelia Rizoli, the beautiful Italian who hovered near him until Georgia arrived, was dead and her father was full of anger and grief; if he saw Felix he was sure to descend into madness. A special night ended with the murder of an innocent woman, the arrival of an old benefactor, distorted beyond hope. And Georgia was away from him once more.

Felix was rendered unconscious not long after the police arrived. Several officers fainted at the sight, filling Felix with some strange excitement before being subdued. Unlike Rossignol, Felix savored the attention his grotesque form was receiving. Before Felix was taken away, the officers bound him in more chains than was necessary. Rossignol was sure Felix was now chained to a wall in a damp cellar hidden in one of the old buildings past the prison and away from the public.

Nothing seemed to work when he spoke, Felix understood nothing but Agatha, whom he mocked and imitated, and Georgia whom he believed was dead by his hands. The only thing Rossignol did manage to accomplish from the night was raising the curiosity and suspicion of nearly everyone he came in contact with. If not for his friendship with the captain of the police force he was sure things would have been far worse for him. They questioned his relationship with Felix: how did they know each other and for how long? Rossignol lied to them and claimed that he hadn't seen Felix in eight long years. How could he tell anyone that he had lived in this cruel world for only three years? Or that what he assumed was his birthday was five days ago. To the Italians he knew Felix, his wife, Agatha, and their daughter, Eva, eight years ago. There was no one to contest his statement. And he was just as clueless as everyone else about Felix's mission.

That didn't stop the horde of questions. Was Amelia targeted because of her close proximity to Rossignol or was Georgia's name simply mentioned around her that led to a mentally deranged Felix to assume she was his target? Witnesses didn't see him until he attacked her. Given that she stood close to a servant's entrance, they believed he had been hiding there. Every staff member and servant of the hall would be questioned in the morning if not that very evening. A beautiful night had unraveled so horrendously. But as it stood, Rossignol was only accused of hiring a servant that either didn't like him or had a grudge against Georgia.

Felix would be executed, Rossignol had no doubt about this, there was nothing that could be done for him. Rossignol's only fear was that they would discover Felix's origin and his as a result. Would they come for him? Would he be strung up for slaughter? Or was his mind merely being cruel to him?

Rossignol sat in his small, inconspicuous apartments several streets from the inn where he housed Georgia. It was modest, he merely slept there. No one ever visited him, not that he would let them in. It was commonly believed by the locals that he was a man of mystery, and perhaps he was, but he coveted his privacy. Privacy kept him safe from rejection, kept the Venetians from fearing him and rioting. Privacy enabled him to envision a future with Georgia, the only downside was the unbearable loneliness, only Georgia was the cure to such an agonizing existence.

The apartment boasted three rooms: a tiny parlor where he took his meals— the only place the servants were allowed, a washroom, and his bedroom. In the parlor was a collection of upholstered chairs and a sofa built for two, a carved, circular table that would be sent to Georgia's home as soon as he could arrange it, and several oil paintings. A large blue and gold rug brightened the parlor bringing the room to life.

In the washroom sat a tub full of warm water. During the unexpected events of the night the few servants he kept employed made sure he had a bath ready, it was the last thing he expected, but the first thing he needed. Rossignol striped down the layers of clothing and folded each garment as neatly as he could over a small chair in the washroom. This certainly was not the apartment expected for a man of his wealth, but he was new to money and his living quarters went beyond anything he needed or desired.

Standing naked in the warm light of several candles and lanterns, Frankenstein's scarred creation stepped into the tub and sank into the water. A bath could undo any ailment and release the stress acquired over the past few days. He rested his head against the rim of the tub and let the water ease his troubles.

This was how he had woken in such a strange world. The first thing he felt was the copper sheeting of the womb the birthed him, followed by the cold slime of the water that delivered the charge that brought him to life. But the tub didn't protect him, or maybe it had in those few minutes before he took his first breath. The rush of air from his first intake was like trying to clear a room covered in years of dust. The first layer was gone, but nothing seemed any cleaner. It hurt so much for him to breathe, but then it felt great. It felt new.

From the tub he had opened his eyes and first gazed upon the dreary delivery room. Nothing made sense, nothing seemed right or wrong; it just _was._ His gaze then turned to the sweat soaked father he had come to loath. Victor made less sense than the rest of the room. But in the beginning Rossignol had no questions for he had no understanding. At first Victor seemed relieved and amazed, but such a strange birth had taken its toll on his creation and rendered the creature unconscious. Victor, believing that his creation died, was then able to understand the horror of his deeds and come to be grateful the creature was dead. Fate, however, would not be kind or forgiving for Victor's arrogance.

Fate intervened and Rossignol once again found himself gazing around his birthing room. Pushing himself from the tub was different then than it was now: it had been harder. He discovered quickly that his body knew what to do and how to move. Fingers grasped the edges of the tub and pulled him forward. He was as ungraceful in his movements as he could ever be. The process was beyond exhausting, and his sensations had been severely overwhelmed in the beginning. When he finally left the tub it felt like freedom, his mind was bent towards his creator passed out on the floor. The memory of it was hazy and difficult for Rossignol, but he recalled the look of abject horror and disgust Victor displayed when he came too. Those few moments between them had sent Rossignol fleeing in fear as well.

After all of that, why would Victor make another being more terrible looking and wild? What madness had Victor descended to that would compel him to show Agatha her destroyed husband?

Rossignol sat further in the tub, his knees came up out of the water and he cringed at the sight of them. They were a different hue than his arms; his limbs were from different donors. Did his torso and head once share a connection? He wondered if Georgia would be disgusted, his dark thoughts compelled a frustrated groan from him. He desperately needed her approval and love. He needed her more than he needed food for his belly or shelter over his head. Although she was safely out of Venice on her way back to Geneva, part of her remained with him. He returned to the ball once the police concluded their questions for him and found that her mask remained behind. It sat staring at him from across the tub atop a cabinet.

The pink, white, and gold mask watched him as he bore holes into it with his own gaze. He imagined her green eyes staring at him. Her soft, ruddy lips smiled at him from beneath the nose of the mask. The taste of her mouth still hung on his lips and in the solitude of his bath he wept grievously. His body burned with longing and he lamented his loss. Georgia's skin pressed against his was enough to kill him and if he wasn't with her soon, it would. He could still feel her lips against his; the feeling of his large hand pressed to the small of her back sent shivers down his own spine.

Rossignol clutched as his body and imagined her arms around him, but then he came into contact with the raised scar along his shoulder blade. The creature then stretched himself in the tub. Scars and discoloration marred his body, contorting it beyond the known beauty of many. From the scar circulating him like a necklace came another scar that descended down his chest and torso. The scar ran the length of his body, ending at the base of the now wilting flesh between his legs. Before he could stop it, the creature burst into tears as a wave of anger compounded him.

Rossignol then stood from the tub , unable to gain any comfort from it. He dressed himself quickly and snatched Georgia's mask as he hurried to his room. On his nightstand was her only note to him. Along with superior hearing, his father also endowed him with superior eyesight. Even in the dark of the impending Venetian winter, he could read her words over and over again. Doing so, however, did not bring him the comfort he thought it would. It served only to make their separation more anguishing.

 _Are you my poet?_

Yes! He cried again and again. Rossignol went to crush the note to his chest, but remembered what he had done to the snowdrops so long ago and stopped. His passion would be his undoing. Instead, he gently kissed the letter before setting it atop the pillow next to his. On top of the letter he placed Georgia's mask and stared at it until his heavy eyelids demanded to rest.

"I love you," he whispered into the darkness.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you all for your patience! I hope finals treated everyone well (for those of you taking them). I hope you all enjoy this chapter and please leave a review, they lift my spirits and keep me writing! :)**

 **Big thanks to Birds Love Words for all her wonderful corrections.**

Chapter 16

The uproar over Amelia's murder was far greater than the uproar over William Frankenstein's. Their differences were great: one was a young boy, the other, a beautiful and desirable woman; one was allegedly by the boy's fair haired nanny while the other was carried out by a grotesque monster. Perhaps they weren't all that different? Men were tossed out of the courtroom of Felix's trail almost as soon as they entered. Rossignol struggled against them as he made his way to the tumultuous room. With great difficulty, he managed to keep his mask on.

The chamber rose several stories above Rossignol almost like a theater, and housed angry spectators eager for the court to arrive at a verdict, even when nothing had yet been discussed. In the center of the cylindrical chamber stood Felix, or what was left of Felix, hissing and spitting at the angry crowd. Priests and other clergymen sat a safe distance above the madness, watching the spectacle with grim faces. Felix, had, at some point, shredded his clothes, forcing many women to flee in disgust. He was undoubtedly a monster. Victor was careless in his construction. Rossignol found him to be revolting. None of the pieces that brought this new form of Felix together seemed to match: one arm was bigger than the other, his chest was flat, and his belly was big. The skin discoloration was obvious.

Rossignol was led to the witness stand that sat elevated, but close to the caged Felix. He prayed that Felix would not call him brother in front of the court, it would be his own death sentence. Once seated, Rossignol scanned the room, and he found that he had allies in the musty, damp chamber. In the eight months he spent creating this facade, he became a beacon of generosity and compassion. The spectators were not so overcome with bloodlust that they forget to offer him encouragement.

"Signor Rossignol," started the judge as he stared down the chamber at him. "State your full name."

He understood Italian better than he thought he would, but a translator who spoke French sat near him regardless. "My name, your honor, is Gabriel Rossignol." His first name was something dear and private to him. Exposing it to such a large crowd made him feel exposed and weak, not unlike his first few days alive in such an unforgiving world. An angry, plump woman was one of the first humans he had ever come into contact with and her first reaction had been to shriek as she chased him from her house. Her scream riled the villagers to chase him away in his poor, famished state. A repeat of that incident was not something he wanted.

Beneath the scrutiny of the Italian locals, Rossignol thought back to Justine and what she faced during her trial in Geneva. Had she been afraid? If he could go back and change what he caused, he would. Rossignol would restore her life, if it were but that simple. But as anguish and regret threatened to overturn his calm testimony he thought back to the reason why he had chosen the name Gabriel. Rossignol often thought of himself as the fallen angel, the abomination doomed to crawl the earth, unloved and alone. Meeting Georgia allowed him to see himself as something more heroic, more noble. He could not fail her or his namesake, a voice from God to the teachers of humanity. He wanted benevolence and compassion, and above all, love.

Below him, Felix snarled and spat, effectively bringing Rossignol back to the grim scene around him.

"Was Signorina Amelia Rizoli attending your ball when she was murdered?" Asked the judge. Rossignol answered affirmatively. "Why did you invite her to this ball? Were you not the man she was entrusted too?"

Interesting question to ask a witness. "Your honor, Signorina Rizoli's father was one of the first men to hire me to salvage his lost goods when I came to Venice. His kindness enabled me to make a name for myself. I invited his family to the ball, Signorina Rizoli was the one that came. She was not entrusted into my care. Signor Morea, the other victim, was her chaperone. Both were in my company. Signorina Rizoli believed she was the guest of honor, although, she was an honored guest."

Rossignol watched the feather of the judge's quill flick as he jotted down notes upon an unfurled parchment. Apart from the perpetual hissing of Felix, the room remained quiet. "Then Signorina Rizoli was not the person whom the ball was thrown for? Was she a decoy for your English girl, ah, Signorina Georgia Daniels?"

Rossignol's eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed beneath his mask. He felt sick for Amelia and distraught that his character was being questioned. It would be simple for him to just leave. He could kill them all and be out the door in minutes if he so chose. But he wanted to be better for Georgia. And himself. And for William, Justine, and Henry. Rossignol spoke slowly so that he maintained control of his passion.

"The ball was not for Signorina Rizoli, but I was not a singular host: I did not ignore her. We danced a waltz before I joined several men in attendance for coffee and conversation. Signorina Rizoli accompanied me. I was then informed that my guest of honor had arrived. I dismissed myself from their company and from Signorina Rizoli. I was away from Signorina Rizoli for at least two hours where I was seen in the company of Signorina Daniels. I did not use Signorina Rizoli in any capacity other than conversation."

Above him the judge nodded and a chorus of murmuring rose around him. The harsh crack of the judge's gavel striking his podium startled Rossignol and frightened the spectators into silence. "Signor Rossignol, your account of the evening has been confirmed by your many attendants."

Rossignol felt the muscles in his body begin to relax. The chamber seemed less dark and suppressing. But this interrogation needed to end. Above him he noticed Signorina Pausini. She smiled down at him, a mild assurance, but then his sharp eyes noticed a subtly stitched pattern in her cloak. He smiled to himself. Signora Pausini had taken the time to embroider a snowdrop into her dress. She was a saint and a true friend.

"A letter was sent to you shortly after the departure of the English guests you were entertaining. Signor Lafoy sent the magistrate letter as well. These letters have been in our keeping until today. Signor Lafoy's letter exonerates you from any concern this court may have felt towards you. You are free to go, Signor Rossignol. We are sorry for the loss you have felt in this tragedy. Return these letters to Signor Rossignol," finished the judge as he handed a cluster of letters to one of the men next to him.

Rossignol rose from the uncomfortable wooden chair and descended the steps, passing by Felix as he did so. Felix hissed at him, but thankfully said nothing. He hadn't reacted to the mentioning of Georgia's name. Was he aware that he would die soon? How could he be so enraged that he would murder someone and then act pacified and ignorant? Rossignol found it disturbing and unnerving.

He ascended the steps of the cylindrical courtroom and stopped at the judge's level where he received his stolen letters. The plump aid handed Rossignol the letters, but not before asking him another question.

"Where is the translator, Bernardo Carlozzi? He was summoned but never appeared. Do you know where he is?"

Rossignol thought for a moment. "I haven't seen or heard from him since the ball. I sent Signorina Daniels away, terminating my need for his services. Why?"

The plump aid leaned forward and dropped his voice. "You helped my aunt by hiring her to make those gowns and your suit. She's alive again. I thank you for that, Signor. We believe Signorina Daniels was the target, but Signorina Rizoli's murderer confused them. You've been cleared, Signor. I suggest you return to your intended and keep her safe." His warning rang clear.

The aid left Rossignol clutching his letters. Rossignol felt his world sink, like he was stuck in quicksand, there was no way out. Bernardo had been missing for a least two weeks. Overcome with madness, Rossignol ripped through the letters. Sir John's letter was dated as November 24th; one from Georgia was dated for November 30th, and December 5th; there were no more. Three letters were all that was sent to him. His breathing quickened and a sheen of sweat formed beneath the mask on his brow. Georgia's handwriting was the same as it always was, flowing and long.

 _December 5th, 18—_

 _My dearest poet,_

 _I am in utter agony since we parted. My feelings for you have not wavered, but I miss you terribly. Sir John informed me that the trial will be held soon and he has sent a letter as testimony. I sent one at his encouragement. Please, write me. I am in agony; I do not know if you are well._

 _I love you. I truly, deeply, love you. Return to me, my poet._

 _With all my love,_

 _Your Georgia_

Rossignol's heart soared and heaved, causing his stomach to lurch. He wanted to know the outcome of Felix's trial but he was desperate to get to Georgia. He prayed that Bernardo hadn't gotten to her, he prayed that Bernardo had nothing to do with Amelia's death. A seething rage blinded his vision, but drove him from the courthouse to his apartment.

When he reached his apartment he flung himself into the parlor and slammed his door shut. His tall form leaned against the door. He had to control his temper. _Think, you fool._ Why would Bernardo want to kill Georgia? Why did he hate the English? Rossignol berated himself for not investigating Bernardo further. How could he have left the most precious creature in the world in the care of someone planning to murder her? Wood splintered as Rossignol's fist smashed into a small table by his door. A feral scream crawled out of his throat and pierced his cold air of the apartment.

Did Bernardo know what he was? How did Bernardo know Frankenstein?

He left his flower in the care of another man. If anything happened to her he would never forgive himself.

Rossignol observed his apartment, taking a mental note of what belonged to him. Most of his possessions were on their way to Georgia's home in Geneva. Snatching his beloved copy of _Paradise Lost,_ Rossignol ran to his room to dress and pack for his journey to Geneva.

The notes that Georgia and Sir John sent to him were tucked safely in his cloak. He counted his bank notes several times over, it was a delightful shock that the ball hadn't drained him. On the contrary, the bank notes, along with the rest of his property he sent to Georgia, still left him with a significant amount money. Georgia would live like a queen, he mused.

Rossignol pulled his cowl over his head and slung his bag over his shoulder. He reached for the knob of the door only to stop at the sound of rapid beating. He sighed and slowly opened the door, or tried to. Signora Pausini barged into his apartment as if it were hers and started in on him in a wave of Italian. His clever mind reeled; her speech was far too rapid for his mind to translate. Dropping his bag, Rossignol reached out to grasp her shoulders.

" _Mi dispiace, Signora Pausini. Non capisco. Ricorda, parlo solo un po 'di italiano." (1)_

She paused a moment, contemplating his words. Taking a deep breath, she spoke slower. "You should not go without saying goodbye. You are with warm _Italians,_ not cold Frenchmen. That man was hanged, and they want Bernardo now. A mess! Ah!" She exclaimed as she dropped a bag at his feet. Bending over, she stooped to open the bag and pushed off his efforts to assist her.

Out of the bag she brought forth a beautiful cloak. It was made of thick, weather-sturdy material and was the perfect addition to his wardrobe. A dark hood was sewn in and was large enough to completely hide his face; also adorning the cloak were a series of pockets stitched on both the outside and inside. The cloak had the look and feel of something new, something gentlemanly. Signora Pausini insisted he take it.

"When did you make this, Signora Pausini?" He was shocked and touched. Since he earned his wealth, he had made diligent efforts in putting his money towards generosity, he never expected anything to be given to him in return. Tears slid down his concealed face, he would have to wipe them away later. " _La ringrazio molto, Signora Pausini." (2)_

She shook her head in agitation. When he took the cloak from her hands he was unable to stop her as she reached up and pulled his mask free. He instantly felt naked, the mortification made him blanch. There was nothing he could do, nowhere to run, not without knocking her over. He waited with heavy anticipation for her screams, but she only grinned at him with motherly affection.

" _Tu sei brutto, ma avete un buon cuore._ _I tuoi amici ti amo. La signorina Daniels ti ama." (3)_

"Did you call me ugly?" He asked incredulously. Amusement was his prevailing emotion. Rossignol found that he enjoyed her honesty. Signora Pausini then pulled forth a bundle of letters written in Georgia's hand and addressed to him. "Georg—" he inhaled the scent lingering on the letters. They smelled just like her.

" _Biscotti per signorina Daniels,"_ she added when she pulled a parcel from the bag, the last item, he hoped. " _Signorina Daniels è troppo piccolo. Dille di mangiare." (4)_

Signora Pausini put the parcel back into the bag and handed Rossignol the additional luggage. She smiled and returned his mask. Rossignol studied the cloak before untying the rag of a cover he was wearing. He kept the thick bundle of dark grey cloth wrapped around his neck. It was too familiar and comforting to relinquish. He felt safe in it. He cast a sorrowful glance at the old cloak he'd stitched together from various textiles he discovered along his journey. In a way the mantle reminded him of himself: a tattered mess put together from scraps of other people's lives and narratives. It was painful to leave behind and at the same time, he felt that the dense weight of his grief and anger would remain with it. Atlas finally set the world on its pedestal.

Warmth engulfed him as he fastened the cloak and secured Georgia's letters in his breast pocket. He threw both bags over his head and one shoulder. Signora Pausini's face contorted with grief he never knew he could instill.

She took a deep breath and lines of her older face creased as she spoke slowly. "You do not look like an angel, but you have brought hope and help to people. A true messenger of benevolence, Gabriel. Farewell," she then stepped aside so that he could leave behind his home of nine months.

Rossignol secured his mask and drew up his great hood. He bowed low to Signora Pausini, the gesture brought her to tears. Leaving Venice was difficult, much more than he ever anticipated. He could not compare it to the loss of the De Laceys, and certainly not to his leaving of Georgia, but still it hurt. In Venice he had made friends and a home. He earned money and made a name for himself, literally. Well, Gabriel was given to him by Signora Pausini. She was mistaken, she was the angel, not he. In this flooded Italian city, he had learned the true kindness of people and their eagerness to repay the favor. But these memories would be the beginning of a many more.

After a day of hard travel and switching horses Rossignol finally came to a cave. He unburdened his horse and set food out for the beast. The muscles in his legs groaned. He supposed that he could have stayed at an inn, but now that he was no longer around familiar faces, he feared what people might do when they beheld his form. His wealth could carry him far, but if he was spied and deemed the monster Frankenstein believed he was, all would be lost. But Rossignol decided it was neither productive nor healthy for him to dwell on such thoughts.

At the center of the cave he pulled several logs and dry leaves he concealed in one of his bags and began a small fire. At the beginning of his life he happened upon an abandoned fire and learned how to keep it going, but it had been a long time before he learned how to make it himself. In those days he was a sad combination of innocence, ignorance, and naivety.

Once he was comfortable upon the ground, using a bag as a pillow, he pulled Georgia's notes from his breast pocket. His touch was gentle, almost as if he was holding her and not her letters.

 _My beloved Rossignol,_

 _Not a moment has gone by when I haven't thought of you. I'm only permitted to think of you when I'm am alone, though— I become rather flushed when you appear in my mind. We must be reunited, urgently. I miss the taste of your lips, they were my companions when you kept yourself hidden. Your lips are a lost melody taunting me. I know it is imprudent, but I need your lips upon my skin._

 _I need you; your smile, your laughter, your touch. I miss your voice whispering to me in the dead of night. I miss the taste of vanilla we shared in the shadows. I know I cannot hold on much longer. I need your hands on me, touching me, holding me. I know this is inappropriate, Sir John would be severely angry with me, but I must speak the thoughts burning my mind. I long to touch you and see the rest of you. I'm sure it frightens you, but please know that I love you. I long to make you happy, to love you so much you forget all the pain you've ever experienced. Do not delay, return to me, my darling._

 _With all my love,_

 _Georgia_

Rossignol brought the letter close to his face and breathed in her scent. After several deep, shaky breaths, he began to relax. He reread the letter until he was finally able to sleep. He would be up at first light and push his horse as hard as he could to reach Georgia. For her, he would not delay.

 **Italian translations**

 **1)** _Mi dispiace, Signora Pausini. Non capisco. Ricorda, parlo solo un po 'di italiano._

English: I'm sorry, Mrs. Pausini. I do not understand. Remember, I only speak a little Italian .

 **2)** _La ringrazio molto, Signora Pausini._

English: Thank you very much, Mrs. Pausini.

 **3)** _Tu sei brutto, ma avete un buon cuore._ _I tuoi amici ti amo. La signorina Daniels ti ama._

English: You're ugly, but you have a good heart. Your friends love you. Miss Daniels loves you.

 **4)** _Biscotti per signorina Daniels."_ " _Signorina Daniels è troppo piccolo. Dille di mangiare."_

English: Biscuits for Miss Daniels." "Miss Daniels is too small. Tell her to eat."


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey, everyone! Been a while hasn't it? I apologize for that. I had my surgery, everything is fine and dandy now. I am free of pain (yay!). I am currently working on chapter 22 for this. Chapter 21 was a pain and I rewrote it several times and I more or less have it where I want. Thank you all for returning. Thank you for the reviews (looking at you, Birds Love Words). Lots of love, K.M.**

Chapter 17

Rolling hills gave way to a dense forest and a road leading into it. Leafless tree branches reached out to each other from across the street, tangling themselves together. The light of the day was grey and cool, and far too ominous to his liking. The wind whipped at Rossignol and brought with it the subtle sounds of small animals scavenging for the last of their winter store.

As he traveled the road towards Lake Geneva Rossignol could not suppress the choking thickness he felt in the air. Excitement, not anxiety, was what he should have felt. The rhythmic beating of his heart was slow and poignant, like a warning. Dread came over him the further he went and the closer he came to Georgia's home.

Sir John's estate was a mile ahead. Rossignol was exhausted and his horse was near dead from exertion, but he pressed on. When, as last, he was only a few yards from the estate a servant came out to greet him.

"Monsieur Rossignol! Come rest. Miss Georgia told us you were coming. There is food for you and your room is made up." The servant moved to take Rossignol's cloak, but the creature back away from him.

"Where is Georgia? Why is she not here to greet me?" Panic welled up in him. Georgia wasn't pressed to any of the windows that faced him nor was she in the foyer beyond the open doorway of Sir John's estate.

The servant looked to Rossignol in confusion. "Miss Georgia was called back to England. Her case was settled. They won't be back 'til after winter, I'm afraid. But worry not, Sir, you are welcome to remain here for the season. Sir John was quite adamant that we look after you." Once again, the servant moved to take Rossignol's cloak.

Georgia wasn't here. Now he understood his feelings. Fate was twisted and cruel. The mask he wore hid the rage on his face. It would not do to frighten the servants when he still had so much to do to be with Georgia. Once he got her back, he was never letting her go again, lest she be lost to him forever. "When did they depart?"

He sounded pitiful. No, there was no use in hiding his heartbreak and utter disappointment. Rossignol wanted to be with Georgia. He wanted to cry and scream. Against his will, his body trembled.

"A week to the day, Sir. Come inside, Sir, it is chilly and you've had a difficult journey."

Rossignol nodded and handed the reigns of his horse to the servant who looked dumbly at the horse. The creature took his bags and passed the threshold of the house. Everything seemed so familiar and yet so foreign. Many a night he had spent stalking the building, finding paths to get close to Georgia or to escape her. It seemed different in the grey light of day. A fire roared near the entrance of the parlor where a piano stared longingly at him. His heart heaved as he imagined her fingers gliding over the keys. He missed her music. He missed her.

Rossignol stopped his ambulations near the door when he realized he had tracked in a good deal of mud. He was filthy and tired. "I will rest the night. Can you have my clothes washed?" He asked the servant who abandoned the horse to someone else.

"Where are you going, Sir?" This was unexpected. Sir John told the servants to house Rossignol, that he was to be married to Miss Georgia and that he was a gentleman. Gentlemen don't rush off when winter is coming. They wait and are waited upon unless hunting for sport. Rossignol was wild.

"To England. To Georgia. I need rest and food," he declared before traveling up the stairs to the washroom. The servants balked at such behavior, how did he know where he was going? Several of the servants followed behind, not saying a word, but watching dumbly. "Will you prepare a hot bath for me?" He asked the first girl. She flushed, nodded and disappeared to prepare the water.

This was new and thrilling. His actions were unconventional and it made the servants almost giddy to see to their chores and gossip. Rossignol stopped once again and turned to the servants trailing behind them and asked for his clothing to be delivered to Georgia's room where he would be waiting. No one questioned how he knew where her room was. This man had been in the house before. He must have been the one Georgia was sneaking food too. A scandalous tale indeed!

Rossignol reached Georgia's room and turned the small, round knob before pressing the door open. It was just as he remembered it. A subtle canopy was draped over her floral printed bed sheets. Next to her bed was a small, square nightstand and sitting atop it was a well-read copy of _Sense and Sensibility._ Did she read anything else? He mused. His fingers gently caressed the book before he opened the cover. Between the hardcover and the first page of the book was a pressed snowdrop, wilted and slightly discolored, but gently sheathed a wax paper. His gift to her.

He brought the withered blossom to his face and kissed it. "I will not dally too long, my love. We'll be together again, I promise."

A knock sounded at the door, prompting Rossignol to return the flower to its home. He was delicate with the door handle, he was in a sacred space, touching what he knew Georgia had touched. An older man stood at the door with two of Rossignol's bags and behind the man stood a woman with his final bag. Rossignol opened the door wider and let them in.

"Claudia is still working on your bath, Sir. Gustav and Ana are fixing you something to eat. Can we get you anything else while you wait? Your mask is a bit dirty, Sir. May I clean it for you?"

Georgia accepted his appearance, and Nettie had grown to live with it, but Sir John's initial reaction was enough for him to know it would be a long time before strangers would be able to look upon him without fear and disgust. But the mask didn't just hide his features from Georgia's caretakers, it kept a certain mystery around him at all times, like a mantle, a shield. It was vital since his mission to obtain a communion with humanity was far from over. "I thank you, kind sir, but my masks are treasured possessions and I see to them myself. Your aid is invaluable. If you've nothing to see too, I would like to learn about the staff."

Rossignol listened to every word the older servant said. Most of the servants had come from England with Georgia but many contemplated returning when they heard she was to be married. All seemed to love Georgia, and especially delighted in her music. Most of the servants from England had been with either Georgia or Sir John for many years, with the exception of Delia, who joined the staff shortly before Georgia's father became ill and passed away.

"She never mentioned much about her father," Rossignol stated sadly at the conclusion of the servant's narrative. But then again, he thought, he had yet to tell her about his father.

The servant stood when Ana brought Rossignol his food and set it on the small table he had used during his nightly rendezvous with Georgia. "Well, there was the scandal, of course. Miss Georgia lost a good deal of friends and lo! One would have thought she was a servant or a vagabond the way people looked at her! Her damnable aunt made sure she was turned away and those who didn't turn her away were then themselves turned away. Sir John spared her by removing her. He felt he owed it to her, given that he is the reason her life was ruined."

This confused Rossignol more. He had but an inkling of what the issue was, but was too ignorant in the ways of man to feel confident enough to ask. Instead, he nibbled on the cold roast and delighted in the tea. He held no aptitude for French wine, but English tea was made for him.

"Lord Benedict Daniels was a great man. No one even knew. . . . Not sure when he did. Not many people liked it, not that it was their business. He was a free man when it started. And Sir John loved Miss Georgia as if she were his own. Promised her father he'd look after her. But still, their indiscretion nearly ruined that girl. But my, I prattling on with a gentleman! Claudia will be in presently. Thank you, Sir. If I may, congratulations on your engagement, Miss Daniels is a fine woman!" He stood, visibly worn by having spoken so much. He left Rossignol to finish his meal and returned only to help Claudia bring the water for a bath.

Rossignol remained in the bathroom for a long while, mulling over every bit of information he recently learned. His brain. however, would not work properly, he was far too tired. When he was clean he returned to Georgia's room and threw himself onto her bed. Her scent still lingered in the sheets and he wrapped himself in it. It was as if she were with him, protecting him with her loving embrace. He managed to fall asleep in the late afternoon, waking when his laundered clothes were brought back to him. It wasn't until the early morning that he realized what his brain had kept secret from him during his bath. The realization made sense— perfect, horrifying sense. Within an hour of waking in a state of panic, he was on a horse fleeing wildly across Europe to the English channel against the advice of Sir John's staff. Rossignol wasn't risking his life, he was saving Georgia's.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello, all! Here is the newest chapter. I have been diligently working on the following chapters, but I have not yet obtained a satisfactory resolution for these characters. I will try to be quick with the rest of the story, but I also want Rossignol and Georgia to have the narrative they deserve.**

 **Warning! This chapter may be unsuitable for some as I describe a murder. It is not too graphic but proceed with caution if you are sensitive to those sorts of things. The next chapter will be a bit more intense, but I think you will like the way it plays out when I post it.**

 **Last note (I promise!) I am backtracking with editing and have been using Grammarly to help. If you notice anything, please let me know!**

The sound of dress shoes briskly the stone ground filled Wallace Street in the heart of South Hampton's wealthy district. A soft drizzle of rain made the journey from the carriage to her destination cold and frustrating. Lady Adler, however, was a goal oriented and determined woman, she would be hindered by nothing. She boasted few friends and many terrified enemies, but that worked best for her: she got what she wanted through fear and intimidation. She also maintained her power by gathering intelligence, a delightful endeavor that proved well worth its risks.

Prying secrets about people and then selling them was an art, and took the skills that a common woman lacked. But why risk her position in the gentry to ruin the lives of others? Her only friend, Lord Worthington had the answer: it was fun. People did terrible things to protect themselves and their reputations. It was all too easy for Lady Adler.

When she reached the door of Lord Worthington's city home she rang for a servant to let her in. An elderly man admitted her, taking her coat and umbrella to dry. He said nothing to her, she almost wished he had just so she could strike him. But for a lady of her elevated position, doing the physical aspect of her chosen occupation was completely unworthy of her, Besides, she took more satisfaction out of making people hurt each other.

Once past the servant the sound of Lady Adler's short, quick steps filled the air as they beat down on the wooden staircase she was ascending. She reached the second floor and followed the curve of the railing down the hall and up another flight of stairs. From her spot at the top she heard muffled crying. She snorted and with her gloved hand, opened the door that hid the person weeping.

"You don't waste time, Lord Worthington, noted" Lady Adler as she shut the door behind her. Before her was a bloodied woman tied to an ottoman. Tears streamed down her face and for a moment her eyes pleaded for help, but when she realized Lady Adler was the intruders, the hope in her eyes died, she would not be rescued.

In his hand, Lord Worthington held a strong leather belt. "Unlike you," he retorted. "Your deal with the devil didn't work out too well, did it? She's in England now, and very much alive."

"Well," she started, "I have another plan in motion right now. Bernardo may have failed, but Victor won't."

Lady Adler removed her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her dress. She then took a seat at the other end of the room and watched Lord Worthington take the belt and wack it hard across the weeping girl's bruised rear. Welts formed on the girl's flesh and her legs trembled and quaked. Lady Alder tutted and inquired whether Lord Worthington ever worried about getting blood on the rug. He then explained that urine was what troubled him the most. The rug currently in use was the fourth rug purchased in a year. But, he conceded, they made transporting bodies easier.

"This is so barbaric and messy!" Complained Lady Adler as she moved away from the scene.

"I don't have a doctor to do it for me and poison is so feminine," spat Lord Worthington as he struck the girl once more. "Why don't you kill her? You owe me for the Frenchman, Lady Adler. I'm insulted by that, the French are so weak, their brains are addled by the excessive wine consumption. He cried entirely too much, not like Mara here. She's calmed herself finally."

"What did she do?" inquired Lady Adler. She approach Lord Worthington and took the belt from him and fastened it around Mara's neck. The girl was docile, made submissive from the relentless beatings. Her eyes were hollowed, wherever she was, it wasn't in the room with her torturers and soon-to-be murders.

"Warned a man who owed me money that I was coming to collect. He fled to America. A waste of a human! Bastard left his poor sister behind, but I'll send her to him. Well, her head anyway."

Lady Adler's curiosity was satisfied. She tightened the belt and marveled at Mara's vain attempt to stay alive. Adler laughed as her victim went from red to purple. When the girl's restraint slackened, Lady Adler released her grip on the belt.

"Well, I must return, I have company and a gift being delivered today. I will bring it by tomorrow," informed Lady Adler. She pulled her gloves from her pocket and placed them delicately on her small hands. Her journey home, despite the freezing rain, was filled will with pulsating adrenaline and eagerness to continue her destructive path. She had guests waiting for her and her guest of honor was on her way. Lady Adler preferred the tactful approach of waiting on others, she felt it gave her the advantage. Having the advantage was key to her continued success.

Rossignol's lungs burned in rebellion. He could endure far more hardships than the common man; a normal man would have scrambled to pneumonia by now. For once, Rossignol thanked his father. The haggard, miserable ship that brought his weary body to England was docked for the week. The crew and passengers beheld him with frightened curiosity. If not for Signora Pausini's fine cloak, his mask would have given him even more unwanted attention. His money and ability to speak so many languages didn't hurt his efforts, they proved to be his best assets. But that was behind him; his fellow travelers were likely enjoying a hot meal and warm bed whilst he trudged on in the sludgy snow with only a small sack to get him to his destination.

Although he finally overcame his well-placed fear of exposing his presence before others. he still preferred to be cautious around people. It took but one soul to go into a panic over his appearance and all would be ruined. Would England be like Switzerland and Germany? Or would it be like Italy and admire his talents? Either way, he needed to find the Talbot house and find Georgia.

He passed through the dock and entered into the bay of Southampton. Few people were about in the freezing rain which made his passage less cumbersome with fewer obstacles and a smaller chance of being observed. He passed several alleyways where several folk had gathered but seldom spoke, and several unsavory buildings before coming upon streets that were cleaner. Following St. Alexander Street, Rossignol came upon Wallace Street bisecting St. Alexander. Taking a left, he traveled Wallace Street, going north until he spied an inn Georgia had mentioned in a previous letter.

At only a few blocks away, Rossignol knew he could reach the inn in a matter of minutes thanks to his long legs, but he delayed when the door to one of the houses along his path opened up to two men carrying a rolled up rug out into the rain. Realizing that the men were struggling, Rossignol offered to help. Both men regarded him with disturbed curiosity.

"Who's you?" asked the man closest to Rossignol. His basic accent declared him to be a simple and uneducated man, but his torn clothing offered an even greater insight to his lowly position. He hefted one end of the rug over his shoulder and faced the street while his partner lifted the other end onto his own shoulder.

"I am Monsieur Rossignol and I am—"

"Miss Daniels' beau?" He cast a glance over to his partner before turning back to Rossignol. He dropped his voice and beckoned Rossignol closer. "Stay away from this house, Sir. Get your girl and get out of England."

Was this a threat? "Why?"

The man sighed, but pulled the rug and his partner and carefully descended the steps of the house to the street. "There be bad people in these parts. You don' wanna know what's in the rug. You's a fine gentleman from we've heard. Take your girl away 'fore it's too late."

He was right to be worried about Georgia. The pounding of his heart became merciless. Without remaining to learn more from the men, Rossignol sprinted down the street. As he ran, his hood flew back, exposing his raven hair. The rain soaked his hair quickly and made his mask uncomfortable, but he kept it on. He reached the inn in a short time and threw open its door. The patrons in the homely lobby stopped what they were doing. All eyes fell on him.

"Miss Daniels. . . where is she?Does anyone know? Tell me!" He barked. Desperation was taking over, he felt himself growing wild and feral.

"She left this morning," informed a middle aged man from behind the counter to the right of the lobby. His eyes were wide at the sight of Rossignol. "She said you might come. . . but you should find her first, Sir."

That was all that he needed to know. These people were frightened of someone, but they hoped their nightmare would soon end. Rossignol was aggravated that he was completely clueless as to Georgia's whereabouts, but his divine tracking ability would prove to be indispensable. He tightened his bag around him and burst from the inn with a tornado-like fury and fear. Wherever Georgia was, he would find her.

Back into the rain once more, he continued north at an inhuman speed. As he ran he pulled his mask free, even if he was spied, no one could catch him. In the distance, however, as the townhomes faded behind him, he saw a wagon carrying a woman he knew all too well. If he could have flown, he would have, and to some, it certainly would have seemed like he could, in fact, fly.

Shivering in the freezing rain was terrified Nettie. Frantically, she waved him down. She let out a horrified gasp when she saw his face. Managing to control her shock at seeing his face, Nettie became hysterical about Georgia.

"She's missing! She went to relieve herself— such a silly girl! She chooses the worst of times," Nettie cried.

Rossignol jumped into the wagon with Nettie. "Take me to her last known location. Do it now, Nettie!"


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you all for your patience! I will hopefully update again in two-three weeks.**

Georgia groaned loudly. An intense pain shot through her head, rendering her other senses useless, all she felt was blinding agony from her forehead. She attempted to open her eyes but saw nothing. Panic settled over her and she felt like she was spinning, but she was positive that she was not moving. Her fingers stretched and flexed and sought some understanding of where she was. Ridged fingertips felt the cold and smooth surface beneath her. Was she on a table? Her entire body was too numb to tell. The pain in her head was unbearable and Georgia quickly forgot what she was searching for.

"Don't move," instructed a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

"Wh—" she mumbled. One more attempt to open her eyes resulted in her knowing that she could, in fact, see nothing. To her horror, she soon realized that she could no longer hear. Sleep took her in its comforting embrace. time and reality no longer existed to her.

Why was it cold? Georgia woke with a jolt, but her startled body was still unable to move much. Her surroundings gradually became clearer, she gasped in exaltation that her sight remained intact, but it was short lived. Instead, her mouth opened in horror at what lay above her.

Rope and wire lined the ceiling, chains wove around the shafts and beams that held the structure together. A butcher's cleaver gleamed in the candlelight around the room. Georgia felt her heart pulsating in her ribs as the reality of her nightmare set in. Her eyes darted around and then down at herself. No wonder she couldn't move, her arms were pinned to her sides and she was strapped to a table.

Before she could think she began screaming. Her voice sounded hoarse to her ears, a strange echo of the woman she was. Hot tears fell from the corner of her eyes; the pain in her head returned with a vengeance, but she continued to scream and call for help to anyone who might be near.

The door to the room holding her swung open and brutal waft of cold air followed a man inside. From where Georgia lay she couldn't see who it was, but she called for help regardless.

"No one is coming, Georgia," stated the man. She knew that voice, but from where?

"Where am I?" Her panicked voice trembled. Green eyes darted around the room and noticed a board covered in odd mathematical equations. All of it seemed foreign and complicated to her, it only served to increase her fear. But hidden in the corner of the room, next to a stack of books and pinned to a board was a drawing of someone. "Rossignol. . . ."

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be. If you hadn't— if you hadn't loved that abomination, we wouldn't be here now."

Georgia attempted to crane her head around to see the man, but she was only met with the sight of another table. On it was another person, a woman whose features were hidden beneath a sheet. "What is this place? How do you know Rossignol?"

The man scoffed. "I made him," he spat. "He is a menace and I must live with the crime of creating him. . . and the other one."

The sheet over the woman was then ripped away. On the slab was a corpse of someone she did not recognize. "This," said the man, "was the wife of Felix, the man— the abomination— that was supposed to kill you. He failed and now I must be the one who carries out the deed. I've created life, but I have never destroyed it. Trust me, this is not what I want. I am not doing it to hurt my creation. It must be done to save Elizabeth and my father. I'm sorry, Georgia."

"Victor?" That voice was so familiar, it had yelled at her enough times that she should have guessed sooner. "Victor, please don't do this. If they're in danger, we can get them help. We'll go to the police. Sir John—"

"Can do nothing!" Screamed Victor. Georgia could finally see him. He was wild, with a starved look in his eye and a complexion that almost made Georgia sick for him. Victor grabbed that table where the ice cold Agatha lay, and shoved it forward. The table screeched as it moved and broke a wooden chair when it came to a halt.

Another table stood on the other side of Agatha. There was no sheet covering the person on the table and Georgia was given no opportunity to prepare for the sight of Deliah's glazed over, lifeless eyes. Her servant was pale grey, her vitality was as a fading dream, but her youth was frozen in time. She stared blankly back at Georgia.

"Victor!" She shrieked as tears burst like a river through a dam. Her body acted on its own accord and she began shaking violently. "Let me go! Please!"

Victor seemed to gain some control over himself. His face relaxed and shushed Georgia gently and smoothed her hair. He was tender with her and caring. "I don't want to kill you, but your aunt, she helped me realize that I have too. You were going to marry that _monster_." Victor's face screwed up in disgust. He turned green at the implication and understanding. "I put him together from the rotting corpses of convicts and killers, Georgia. You wanted to mate with that abhorrent creature."

Georgia's brain immediately began sifting through everything she had ever heard or seen about Rossignol. Her mind fought with her heart, she fought against what she understood was the truth. But her mind hurled more at her and thoughts of her estranged aunt demanded her attention. "W-why would my aunt want me dead, Victor?" There had to be a reason, but it alluded her.

He scoffed once again and withdrew from her. "That is what you focus on. . . . Your aunt killed your brother. She did it with poison. Your grief-stricken parents always believed she had a hand in it, they were right of course. Your brother stood in her way to your father's wealth, just as you do. They cut her out of their lives. Then your mother died and your aunt wanted back into your father's life. Your father was an idiot, Georgia. Your aunt had him poison over time; subtle hints of this and that so no one would notice. She is a terrible woman and I know that she will kill Elizabeth if I do not deliver your body. When I complete my task, I will be free."

Georgia stretched her hands, her bindings were loose, but it would take a great deal of work before she would be free of her restraints. Despite the pounding in her head, she was determined to survive and get away. "How did you did you come to meet my aunt?"

Color drained from Victor's face. "My creation. She knew about him from Deliah— oh, yes, Georgia. Your servant was not your friend. Be glad her use ran out. Lady Adler has many spies. She learned of him and me. I—" he paused and looked about the room. All the windows were boarded shut. The smell of damp and decay was stifled only because of the winter chill. It was the only way to hide his gruesome work.

"I haven't spent anytime recovering," he continued, pacing around the room as he recounted all that led them to this moment. "I meant to, and at first, I did. Then your aunt found me. She persuaded my father to enlist the help of her physicians, but they pried into my work until madness took me again. If I helped her, the demon would be taken care of, and my family would be safe again."

Georgia waited for him to say more. Her movements halted, and she could hear her sweat hitting the table she lay tied too. "Rossignol is not a demon. Please, just listen. Ask him for help and he will come. But don't kill me, don't hurt me. Let me help you."

Instead of abating his anger, Georgia's supplications only renewed his fury. The reluctance he had about killing her faded. To Victor, she was no longer a fallen English gentry, she was no longer a lady worthy of kind words and respect. She was an animal in a slaughterhouse and her death meant his freedom. Victor approached her, causing her to panic. Her bindings still weren't loose enough for her to break free. "You cannot help me, at least, not while you live."

Victor's voice was oddly calm. There was a feeling of tranquility for him; a sense of nobility. He was saving humanity by destroying his creation's mate. He was avenging his loved ones. It would not matter the consequences, Elizabeth would forgive him when she understood why. Victor freed the cleaver from its hook and ignored Georgia's futile, and final hysterical pleas for him to stop. He absently watched as she struggled with her bindings.

"I would prefer," he started, "if you didn't move, I want a clean cut. As a mercy, I only want to strike once. If you move too much I will miss and you will feel all of it. Relax, Georgia. That creature will join you in death soon enough."

"Rossi—" her voice cracked as she screamed in vain. "ROSSIGNOL!" Her lungs burned with her last efforts to get help and free herself. "Oh, God. . . ."

Victor wrapped one hand around the cleaver and lifted it above her. His other hand wound tightly around Georgia's hair close to her scalp. He pulled her head back so that her neck as completely exposed. She struggled, but his grip only became firmer and more resolute. Saliva sputtered from between Georgia's teeth as she used what little strength she had left to save herself. The sharp blade seemed to smile down at its prey. Victor took a deep breath, a silence fell on them, time seemed to freeze. Georgia's heart broke as the cleaver began its fateful descent to end her life.

As she prepared to meet her end a flash of light blinded her. The thunderous sound of the door being ripped off its hinges caused her to wince and cry out. Next to her, she heard the acute thud of the cleaver as it smashed into the table. A furious roar filled the room.

"FRANKENSTEIN!" Screamed a voice so terrible that Georgia became terrified of its owner. "YOU WILL DIE!"

Georgia forced her eyes open to find that a large figure had thrown Victor across the room. Frankenstein lay on the floor clutching at his ribs amidst broken glass, books, and the remains of demolished bookshelf. He spat insults at the advancing giant.

"Rossignol!" Cried Georgia. She had never been so relieved or frightened. "Gabriel!"

The giant stopped and turned to her. He was a horrifying to behold. His rage was animalistic and deranged. His face contorted hideously, snatching the breath from her lungs. But when the furious Rossignol saw the fear and dare he think it, _disgust,_ on her face, he calmed his expression. He pushed the anger away to protect her.

She was tied to a table in her filthy, damp undergarments, the sight kept the burning rage in him alive. It was the blood and the horrid stitching of Victor's attempt to close Georgia's head wound, and the tracks of tears that broke his heart. She was weak and dirty and weeping at her predicament. From her wailing came a supplication for freedom which he rushed to grant.

The creature ripped away the bindings and lifted her into his arms. Georgia clung to him and wept into his ravenous locks. Her body trembled against her wishes.

"My love," she wept. Her sobs became muffled in his embrace. His hands tangled in her hair, he held her close to him.

Rossignol pulled his cloak so that it covered her weak frame. He then lifted her and started towards the broken door frame and towards the horse he had waiting for them.

"You bastard! Elizabeth will not die for you!" Shrieked Victor. He charged at the couple with a knife drawn up. Rossignol quickly dropped Georgia's feet and blocked the attack, shoving Victor back. Victor cried out in pain as he stumbled back, clutching his side.

Rossignol set Georgia on the ground as gently as he could and pulled his cloak off. He quickly covered her trembling body, before rushing back to Victor. Frankenstein weighed nothing to his creation who was able to lift him several feet off the ground. Veins running along Victor's temples burgeoned from the stress and lack of oxygen. As his face went from beet red to ashy purple, he tried to speak.

"You threaten my love, Sir. Why should I spare yours?" Spat Rossignol. His full fury burned up at Victor. He wanted to squeeze the life out of Victor. For once, he hungered for the slaughter he knew he would never regret.

"Gabriel, don't," pleaded Georgia. Her voice was a gentle tidal wave coming into smooth the battered shoreline.

Rossignol felt the tension ease from his body. His grip loosened and he dropped Victor to the floor where he coughed and grasped at his throat.

"I'm sorry, _mon per neige_ ," whispered Rossignol. Georgia looked so broken covered in tears and dried blood. Before he ran to her his eyes fell upon Agatha's corpse. Felix and Agatha would have to be avenged and if Eva and her grandfather were still alive, he would see to it that they were well cared for. Although they spurned him, they were his first family and taught him so much about life and family.

The creature bent down to Georgia, tightened his cloak around her and pulled the hood over her head. "I'm sorry, my love. Let us go and save them." He picked her up and took her to the wagon waiting outside. Seeing Georgia bundled up sent Nettie into a frenzy.

Rossignol helped Georgia onto the wagon and instructed Nettie to keep her as dry and warm as possible. He then left the women and returned to the terrible cottage of unimaginable terror. Victor still lay on the floor attempting to catch his breath. He rolled over and stared at the floor before Rossignol grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. "Give me a sheet to cover Agatha." His voice was cold and unflinching.

"I didn't do that to her," gasped Frankenstein. Fury radiated from Rossignol while maddened fear seeped from Victor.

Rossignol released Victor once more, his gazed propelled his father to search quickly. "Elizabeth will die if I don't give Georgia's aunt what she wants." Victor pleaded.

" _Father,_ this all ends tonight." He was in no mood to talk. Once Victor had a sheet, Rossignol snatched the cloth and proceeded to wrap Agatha up. He kissed her forehead before covering her for the last time. With his task completed, Rossignol moved like a ghost to the table Victor had Georgia tied to. The cleaver still sat on the table, waiting for the chance to taste blood. Rossignol reached out and picked it up, he turned to Victor and held it out for him to take. "You know what to do."

"No," Victor hissed. "I won't."

Rossignol advanced him and towered over him. "Moments ago you were willing to murder, an innocent woman— _my— my Georgia!_ Take it and do it." Rossignol grabbed Victor's hand and pressed the handle of the blade to his palm. "Now, do it, _sir_."

He did not wait for Victor to decide. Instead, he took Agatha's body into his arms and carried her out to the wagon and placed her in the back. When he returned to the abhorrent cottage he found Victor preparing his last gruesome task. Rossignol went around the room taking up candles as he did so. Flames licked the loose papers and books piled together near the back of the cottage. He used his sleeve to wipe away the equations written in chalk before ripping the boards free and casting them into the fire. Before the fire consumed the cottage, Rossignol pulled Victor free and threw him into the back of the wagon. They raced from the burning building as quickly as they could through the cold and muddy road.


	20. Chapter 20

Whitehall Manor was the type of building Eva's mother would talk about wistfully when she reminisced about her glory days in France. But the manor was greater than the images Agatha filled her daughter's head with. The furniture was upholstered in velvet the color of country wine, accented with polished bronze. Great carpets from India lined the first floor of the manor and old Scottish rugs covered the stairs to the second floor. There was something in every room, not that Eva went to any of the other rooms. She and her grandfather were always escorted around the house but seldom went outside. A grand estate also served as their prison.

They were kept warm, fed, and clothed; it could have been worse in reality. No, it was worse. Her mother was gone, they got to say goodbye at least. Her father was, well, she didn't know exactly what he was, just that he wasn't himself anymore and never would be again. She hadn't gotten to say goodbye to him. One evening he was just gone from the manor, as well as one of the large men who kept them locked away. There was no pomp and circumstance, people would just come and go.

Eva was old enough to understand that she was in danger and her age was the blessing that kept her grandfather alive. She was old enough and smart enough to understand that their benefactor was really their malefactor. She was old enough to understand that her defiance agitated her captor. The only thing she wasn't old enough to understand was how they could get away.

After nearly a year of being kept in the manor that lost its appeal too quickly, Eva met Elizabeth Lavenza and Alfonse Frankenstein. She did not, and still did not, understand her connection to them. Elizabeth was kind but bitterly sad. Her eyes were consistently red, it made a stark contrast to her paling skin. Eva was sure that she would be the next person to die. Alfonse, however, was a survivor. He was someone who had seen too much death, someone meant to endure it. What, then, was Eva?

Alfonse spoke with Eva at every moment they were allowed to be around each other and helped her learn English. Despite the pain he shared with Elizabeth, Alfonse maintained his pleasant disposition, always looking forward to the freedoms they were seldom granted. Only he seemed to bring a smile to Elizabeth's face. At least, while they were together they could forget their suffering.

"Miss Eva!" Cried Lady Adler as she rushed into one of her many rooms. Eva shuddered at the sound of her name and the sight of an exalted Lady Adler. "Splendid news! Frankensteins, you will be leaving soon. Miss Eva, I will keep you on as a servant. Oh, but your grandfather will be going to the poor house." Each statement she spoke was with a smile dripping on her lips. She was excited to declare each other their futures, a queen designated the lives of her subjects.

"How is that 'splendid'?" questioned Eva incredulously. Her accent was thick with a French air, but she would not shirk from her determination to challenge her captor, even at the humiliation she received at her malefactor's hands.

Lady Adler's smile faltered and her emerald eyes flared for a moment. "Eva, dear, talk like that is was got your mother killed." She adjusted her dark, curly hair. "It is _splendid_ because Victor Frankenstein has secured my future. He'll be bringing me my prize soon. Ooh!" She sucked in a pinched breath as her excitement was causing her to lose control of her tight restraint. The animation brought to life in her harsh features caught Eva by surprise and sent a new wave of dread through her fellow prisoners.

She clapped her hands together and demanded they follow her into the Blood Room, so named for the violent red that adorned its walls. A sofa sat at one end of the room and around it were several small round tables. Lady Adler sat on the sofa and directed all her captives to sit on the floor. Eva's grandfather struggled and were it not for Alfonse, the elder De Lacey would not have been able to do it. Alfonse sat close to De Lacey while Eva sat apart and a foot from the frightened Elizabeth.

Lady Adler adjusted the collar of her dress and then pulled the cuffs of her sleeves down, closer to her hands, She then rested her hands on her lap in the manner after that of high-ranking women. Eva watched her hands and wondered if she did anything with them. They were clean, physically, but Eva knew they were as red as the room. Blood practically dripped from them. The girl could not stop from staring in disgust.

"Eva," continued Adler. "You do not know Georgia, but she has grown into quite the woman, beautiful really. Such a trusting woman; it was rather fun to ruin her in the eye of the public. And it was a wonderful revenge to utterly destroy my brother's name. Well," she added, acknowledging the facts she had forgotten, "he ruined himself. Smearing the Daniels name; father would have been so furious. A degenerate hiding in a false union! I admit, it was a shock to me when I learned that he romanced Sir John Lafoy. Scorned lovers do love to talk, especially if it protects their dirty little secrets.

"Did you know, Eva, that Georgia fell in love with the hideous creature that once lived outside your simple home. She yearned so much to be special. Playing the piano wasn't enough, she took up her country singing to woo her audience. She tried so hard. Then she falls in love with a ghastly who makes his fortune in salvaging! Victor's firstborn is quite the crafty entrepreneur and he settles his sights on my niece!" A fit of laughter escaped her. "Every time I think about it I can't help but laugh. I ruined her life and she finds some horrid wretch who gives her the world only for her to lose it all again. Divine justice. Tell me, Miss Eva, you've seen the creature, is he truly as terrible as I've heard?"

A lump formed in Eva's throat. After months of Adler saying the same things to her, Eva had become desensitized to her rants. Multiple lamentations were issued at every bit of news or thought of Georgia, Adler blamed her for every woe her family sustained. But from where Eva sat, Adler seemed to have everything she could ever want. The only thing Lady Adler's rants managed to inspire in Eva was utter loathing and disdain. She crinkled her nose and looked to her grandfather. "Kindness is never ugly."

Adler scoffed. Eva would be disciplined soon enough. Her mind would be turned from thoughts and towards obedience. "Monsieur De Lacey, I thought your family were once Bourgeoisie, but it seems you've raised a simpleton. I suppose that is how you ended up in a burnt down cottage."

"Lady Adler, I've got your wine, ma'am." A meek servant entered the room carrying a tray with a small glass of amber liquid. Her hands trembled as she approached her mistress and she kept her eyes down while she walked.

Adler's smile soured for a moment. "Denise, you are relieved from your position in this house. Deliver me my wine and then be gone. Eva will take your place." Her smile reappeared when Denise placed the tray on a table next her now former mistress. Denise then fled the room with tears falling, either by relief or fear.

"Mr. Frankenstein will be in shortly with my prize and then all this dreadfulness can be behind us." Adler then brought the wine to her lips. The chalice holding the liquid was perfectly polished silver except for the oily fingerprint facing Eva. It was a blessing for Denise that her mistress hadn't seen it and a greater blessing that she was no longer her servant. Adler sipped the wine and grinned with satisfaction. She took several more sips, her face flushed from the liquid.

"Mr. Frankenstein, ma'am," introduced an elderly servant from the other end of the room. Adler demanded that he enter at once. Her eyes flashed to Elizabeth's pale, horrified face briefly before watching as Victor entered carrying in a bloody bag. He was pale and grim and the grievous looks from Elizabeth and his father nearly broke his resolve.

Each step Victor took was undeniably painful, his ribs burned and the arm he held out his package to Adler threatened to quit on him. "I have what you want. Delivered as promise. Let us go."

Adler threw back her head and laughed wildly. "I do hope! Mr. Frankenstein, that she didn't cry and whine too much. Her snivelling has always been so contemptible and unladylike. Barbaric! Give it to me. I want to see her."

Elizabeth wept horribly, Alfonse merely stared at the stranger his son had become. When he gave Adler the bag he pulled away from her and rushed to Elizabeth who shrank at Victor's touch. They struggled a moment before Victor managed to restrain Elizabeth. He was grateful she wasn't too strong, the bruises from his fight with Rossignol launched another violent attack against him. Every inch at him hurt and the less Elizabeth struggled, the less he felt inclined to scream in pain.

Lady Adler untied the bag but was far too preoccupied with her gruesome prize to notice three other people walk into the Blood Room. Eva, however, did notice. Her eyes lit up as she saw the only familiar face of the three and it was the only one of its kind. Eva smiled widely, she hadn't forgotten her dance with the creature or his sorrowful speech about not having a family. It was impossible for her to ever forget him; every decision her father has made was out of fear of this odd looking man. If only her father had not dragged them away from the creature, perhaps he and her mother would still be alive.

Behind her, Lady Adler gasped in disgust while Alfonse began laughing. "What is the—" She was then made aware of the three strangers. In the bag was Deliah's head, Adler dropped it, causing it to roll towards a frantic Elizabeth who was swept up into Victor's sore arms.

"Father, come," instructed Victor as he reached out to grab onto Alfonse's arm.

"Do you think any of you will be able to get away?" She laughed. "I hadn't planned to kill all of you— it is a rather messy endeavor— but if I must, then I shall. At least, Mr. Frankenstein brought his beautifully hideous monster. Oh, the things he's done to you all," she mused spitefully. "Especially Georgia." She was aglow with marvel at her plan. She would shoot them with the gun hidden her dress and cut them up. It would be gory, but how she did miss those days. One had to keep up appearances while one hunted for meat.

Georgia would die, not so she could obtain her niece's wealth, but because she hated her. She hated her own brother. But truthfully. she loved killing, she loved the games she played until her prey begged for death. Having a family made the game fun. torturing strangers just didn't have the same appeal. The people now gathered around her were no longer strangers to her, they were all connected to Georgia.

"Yes, aunt," declared Georgia. She was bundled in Rossignol's cloak and used him as a support to approach her aunt. "And the only monster in this room is you. You're already dead. Sometimes you can't trust the people in your household." Her eyes rested on Deliah's decapitated head.

Adler snorted. "Poison," she concluded as she took a whiff of her drink. She smile curtly and reached into her dress pocket. "Fair enough." The pistol was a terribly wonderful companion and a perfect executioner. It came free from her pocket, but as she lifted her arm to take aim she felt herself falling backwards. Her ears were filled with mad shrieking.

"Enough of this!" Alfonse Frankenstein had his hands wrapped around Adler's neck. "You destroyed my son, you destroyed Eva's family!" His grip around her tightened.

Victor leapt for his father while Rossignol reached for the pistol Adler dropped. He pulled it away from the scuffle and returned to Georgia. "She is dying, father, let her go," he pleaded. Frightened by the scene, Eva ran towards her old friend and hid behind his large frame. Each moment became painfully slow as Eva watched Alfonse lose himself to a fury he'd kept a secret.

Alfonse was red, tears streamed down his face. Here was a man broken by unimaginable loss, reconciling the evils in the world that were both created by man and born to it. Beneath his fingers he felt the desperate, fiery pulse of Adler fighting to stay alive and if he were as attuned to all of his senses like his son's creation, he would have been able to feel the flicker in Adler's pulse telling him that the poison her servant had given her was doing its job. All he could see was red from heartbroken rage. He'd spent months with this vile woman, watching her taunt Eva and verbally abuse Elizabeth. Her jabs at Victor facilitated his decline into haunted madness. All this was meant to end in the death of a girl who had done no one any harm.

He pulled her neck towards him and then used his momentum to thrash her head against the ground. As his grip around Adler's neck tightened, Alfonse's face grew deep red and the vein running along his temple and forehead burgeoned warningly. "This woman is responsible! She murders innocent people for fun." Once again, Alfonse lifted her by the neck and prepared to thrash her head against the ground.

Before Alfonse could deliver another blow, Rossignol grabbed him by the arm and ripped him away, leaving Alder to gasp and cough, clutching at her neck. "Monsieur, no. Please," he begged with his watery eyes. The fury he held towards Victor was lost and forgotten, it was replaced by compassion and sorrow. "Do not kill her, you are not a murder. Her death will not bring you peace, I know this."

Alfonse's lip trembled. "You— you're the one." Alfonse's eyes swept over Rossignol's face, understanding the torment it had brought to his family. Knowing what he was and seeing him so unmistakenly alive filled the elder Frankenstein with a new sense of anguish. Rossignol, however, did not let this rejection wound him as it would have in the past; he held onto Alfonse.

"I have hurt you, Sir, unimaginably. You are an innocent victim of my crimes, and I can never make up for it, but I can keep you from feeling what I feel. Come, Monsieur, come away from her. We must all be gone from her. Please?" He beseeched, gently tugging Alfonse away.

A croaked laugh filled the room and eyes were once more set upon Adler. "Not— ah— dumb creature after— ah— all." A fit of coughing ensued as Rossignol pulled Alfonse to Eva and her grandfather. Georgia quickly reached out to her beloved with her trembling, pale hands. "But foolish— eh. You planned to kill Elizabeth if you never got your—"

Adler never finished her statement. She never finished anything else. For what seemed like eternity, the world stood still. Dust and gunpowder swirled around itself like a slow-moving whirlpool. For a moment, they all watched the dust while it remained visible, thinking of the irony of how beautiful it appeared. Silence followed the staccato shot of the gun, which had the power to snuff out even the dripping sound of snow melting outside the window. It was powerful enough to stop the heart and restart it on a new beat. It was also powerful enough to ensure that Adler would never speak again. Her body hit the floor with a soft thud, one that her death seemed almost beautiful and delicate. The carpet of her precious "Blood Room" soaked up the dark liquid pouring out of her neck. A soft groan passed her lips and forced the scene to move once more.

"Oh, good God, Elizabeth! What have you done?"

 **A/N: I have it in my head to write a sequel where Georgia and Rossignol will uncover the reasons why Adler was able to convince so many to do her bidding. There is a bit of a subplot that I created here but chose not to explore it. I felt that doing so would cause the story to become overstuffed since the story is about Georgia and Rossignol. I love writing about them and I want them to have a few adventures before I say goodbye. However, my writing a sequel is entirely up to you, my readers. There is no point in continuing or adding to the story if there is no one interested in reading it or if you all think it is a bad idea. I am perfectly content to give Georgia and Rossignol this story only, so either decision works for me. Thanks :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: This chapter is nine pages, so it is a pretty decent length. I will update in a couple of weeks. Sorry if my last note was confusing. I think there are about 3 or 4 more chapters left. It is a bit of a mess and I am trying to wrap up a few storylines and get myself set up for the sequel. I have a rough outline completed for the sequel and I started on a rough draft of a the first chapter. The posting of that is TBD, but I will let you know. Leave a review or PM me what you like most/least about Georgia and Rossignol. We're almost done with this story 0.0 and I can't believe I've received such wonderful reviews from you all.**

 **Read on!**

Chapter 21

Ringing sounded in her ears, it was pulsating and loud. Her trembling hands hurt and burn, her fingers were white from gripping the gun too firmly. With a shaky breath, she dropped her hands and let Lady Adler's gun slip to the floor. Victor grabbed her just as she burst into tears, weeping out her apologies. He pulled her close to him. "I know, Elizabeth, I know." Victor's gaze went to Rossignol. It was over. It was all finally over.

"We should go," warned Alfonse. His eyes were wide; he had all but given up the pretense of being calm. A woman lay bleeding out on the floor before him and his foster daughter was her murderer. As Alfonse observed the horrific scene before him he wondered want all his months of imprisonment had meant? All of Adler's taunting, her deliverance of promises, no matter how awful, culminated into an everlasting torment. She was gone physically, but they would never be free of her.

"There is a wagon outside, waiting for us," informed Rossignol. Next to him, he felt Georgia's weak arms wrap around him. He dropped to his knees and brought her close to him, she wept into his hair. "My love, you are safe, I promise you."

"Thank you, Gabriel." He stared blankly at her. She was pale and turning ashy. "For not killing her. I know you wanted too, but you never gave in."

Murder was once his answer for every wrong made to him. Alder certainly deserved her end, but what would that have meant for his growth? His great desire for love encompassed the noble belief of compassion, which he would have extended to Adler for Georgia's sake.

Georgia leaned in and kissed him, her skin was warm and clammy, prompting Rossignol to sweep her into his arms. "Are we ready? Eva," he said, searching for the girl clinging to her grandfather. The girl looked to him, still stunned by what she had seen moments ago and by what she had endured for months. A haunting look glossed her famished body. "Fetch a cloak for your grandfather and for yourself."

During their confrontation with Georgia's aunt, the weather had not gotten any better. Wind stung their tear-stained faces as they left the large, stately house, and waded through the rain and slush to the lawn where a wagon waited. A corpse, the lifeless body of Agatha lay in the back with a sheet draped over her. But the wagon and Agatha were not alone. The local police and constable were all mounted on horseback, watching and waiting for them. Sir John sat among them and in the background they spied the servant who spent months poisoning Adler, looking bleak and miserable. Her confession would warrant a sentence, but what, they could only guess.

The constable stepped forward. "Is she dead?"

Rossignol felt his stomach flip; their silence meant that he would be this beaten party's representative. His grip around Georgia tightened as if the rains might raise up and sweep her away, toward the English channel and death. Her frigid hands, in turn, grabbed on to his drenched shirt. " _Oui, monsieur."_

"English, please, Monsieur Rossignol. The constable is here to help. The girl has confessed to her deeds. Lady Alder was believed to have been involved in several murders and cover-ups." Sir John approached them. His eyes fell on Georgia and his heart nearly broke at the sight of her. She had the strong air of her father, the courage, but her eyes were more like his than they had ever been. Pain and anguish, loss and heartbreak, had a way of altering the eyes of the Daniels' family.

"Poison?" Asked the constable. "Who fired the gun?"

He hadn't and he certainly wouldn't say he had for anyone's sake, only if Georgia asked him to. A glance at her stern, shivering form told him that she would resolutely never ask that of him. "It was—"

"— Me," interjected Alfonse. "I shot her. I fought her when I saw that she had again and pulled it from her grasp. Shot her is what I did and I'll have to answer to God for it. Please," he begged with tears lining his pitiful eyes, "let us leave this place. We are cold and wet, and badly malnourished. Let the women be warm and take the men for questioning."

At this proposal, Rossignol clung to Georgia, pulling her into his embrace and dwarfing her. He would be dead before they took her away from him. Only when he was sure that she was safe would he relinquish her. He pulled the hood of his cloak over her head and whispered for her to stay close to him.

"That won't be necessary, Sir. I am taking all of you to Weston Inn, it is three miles from here and away from the city. There is a carriage in the stables, I sent my men to rouse the servants. Ah, it is coming around now. My deputy will remain here."

Monsieur De Lacey was helped into the luxurious carriage once it made its stop. Beautifully upholstered seats quickly became ruined with the cold damp from their clothes. Inside, Eva took the seat next to her grandfather, Georgia was seated next to her. Elizabeth and Nettie sat across from them, quiet and forlorn. Alfonse was then encouraged to sit inside as well, Victor feared their time under Adler's _care_ was finally taking its toll on his father. Meanwhile, Rossignol held onto Georgia's hand as they all settled themselves. He marveled at the shocking size of the impractical carriage which bolstered six wheels and was pulled by four horses. On the inside candles were lit at every corner of the carriage and were mounted just out of reach of the riders. The flames fought hard to lick the roof of the carriage, but its unusual height left the flames short by several inches.

"I will be just outside, my love," Rossignol whispered. He relinquished her hand and shut them in the carriage.

Left alone, the six shivering occupants huddled close, absorbing as much warmth as they could. They were mute for most of the ride and kept their eyes cast down on the floor. At length, Eva broke the silence.

"You are in love with the man, I do not know his name. Grandfather," she said, turning to the elder De Lacey. "She's in love with the man who helped us." Eva's head whipped around to the pale and shivering Georgia. "He helped my family."

Georgia's heart warmed. "He helped mine too. His name is Gabriel."

Eva paused and thought for a moment. Her small hands held onto her grandfather while her head drooped to his shoulder, all the while, the carriage shook them and jostled them around. Disks were erected around each candle to prevent the wax from flying off and striking the inhabitants. Outside, they heard the men rustling around trying to clear the road. The icy wind had blown tree branches and other debris directly into their path and the mud and misplaced road stones making it difficult for the wagon and carriage to reach its destination.

The carriage did a marvelous job of keeping the wind out, but if they weren't put by a fire and allowed to change, they would catch their deaths. A chill steadily began climbing up Georgia's spine and poured like molten metal down the veins of her arms. Beads of sweat began forming on her brow, antagonizing the cold threatening her. Her body trembled violently.

"My mother is in the wagon, isn't she?" Asked Eva, oblivious to the battle within Georgia's body.

"Yes," she whimpered in pain. Rossignol was broken at the sight of Agatha's lifeless body. The desolation in his eyes crushed Georgia's heart. Only when she first met him had there been a hint of this desolation, but it returned with overwhelming terror when his watery eyes saw Agatha. An infantile pain of losing the closest thing he had ever had to a mother consumed his greyish face. Agatha was the first woman he had ever truly seen, her smile was the first of its kind to him. The soft waves of her earthy brown hair drove his first need to know what it was about a woman that man weak to her commands. But in the end, she was a part of the family that was his first. They made it possible to for Rossignol to love Georgia.

"We couldn't leave her. Gabriel couldn't leave her. She is— was his mother." Her voice was somber as the frightening sensations reverberated throughout her body. Eva, she could see, understood what was told to her, but what she felt, Georgia could not begin to guess. Eva kept her thoughts concealed within herself, not like Georgia, whose face could be read as easily as the alphabet. It made the horror of what the child endured for the past few months even more anguishing.

From the opposite side, Elizabeth and Alfonse listened with their eyes downcast and their faces lost in the void they felt. Nettie stirred and placed her hand against Georgia's face. She gasped and flung open the door of the rocking carriage. She cried out for Rossignol, who like the birds of mythical legends, swooped in.

His ravenous locks were soaked and dripping down his coat. The white shirt beneath clung to his scarred body. At his arrival, he removed his simple mask. His face seemed greyer and pruned slightly from the water that slid beneath the mask. His flesh revolted against him, annoyed to be trapped beneath the mask and water. Watery blue eyes rested with adoration and love upon Georgia.

Alfonse could not help but stare at the creature his son crafted and revived. The creature appeared as if he were a carved statue, made at the hands of a beginning apprentice, come to life. Better skilled hands would have made him beautiful, but Victor's arrogant ones crafted a statue best left at the back of the room. But, surprisingly, not destroyed. How strange that this man, this creature composed of the dead, could inspire a revolutionary version of beauty. Like a private, cherished, and loved sort of beauty; it was something Alfonse had never seen, not even in glances he shared with his wife.

"Georgia, you're warm." There was more to it than that. The haziness of her eyes and the fevered blush of her skin revealed the nature of her illness. Nothing, however, could be done for her at present. His hand reached out and cupped her face, she leaned into it in an attempt absorb the heat he so willingly offered to her. It would have been simple for her to drop her head into his hand, her head felt heavy and unnaturally large. Georgia would not express how exhausted she felt so she forced herself to pulled away from him.

"We're almost there," he finished. Throughout their exchange, the freezing rain ensured that no part of Rossignol remained dry. Mud made it difficult for the carriage to go as quickly as he would have liked, but it traveled fast enough to get Georgia to the safety of dry warmth and food.

Another violent shiver erupted from Georgia. Rossignol paled and instructed her to bring the cloak as close to her as she could before he slammed the door shut. She looked terrible, on the cusp of death and it terrified him more than anything. For the second time today he would save her; through the mud, his boots fought to carry him ahead of the procession and closer to the Inn at the end of the road. It would take almost an hour for the others to reach the inn, but he would ensure the staff was ready to receive them.

Rossignol was not immune to the cold and the damp, he felt it almost as badly as the others without his cloak. His own body roared in agitation and demanded that he get to the warmth Inn offered. The mud made the sprint difficult and he caught himself in a near stumble more than once, but he pressed on. Absolutely nothing would deter him, his future depended on it. Cold bit him while his ravenous hair clung to his damp face and before he could stop it, a warning cough escaped him.

Well, at least he knew he wasn't infallible. He had survived being stabbed and shot only succumb to a cold. When he was but a few yards from the Inn, he stopped, turned, and wiped the water from his face as best he could. The horses pulling the carriage were struggling, but they were going quickly at the harsh demand of the diver. Rossignol slipped his mask on and rushed through the small door of the inn.

A collective gasp filled his ears when he ducked beneath the door frame. A small woman in a simple woolen dress and white apron stood closest to the door and to him. Her mouth opened and asked if he was their guest.

"Yes, I am Rossignol. My fiance, Miss Daniels. . . . Please, she is not well." He was in agony and their eyes were only on him, he felt naked and exposed.

Behind the woman stood a man dressed in considerably nicer clothing. He pulled his round spectacles on and hooked the arms around his ears. "I am Dr. Calvin Edmondson. We've been waiting for you." Though he could not see Rossignol's face, he knew him to be agitated and thus resolved not to offer his hand. "Martha, take Rachel up to Miss Daniels' room," he instructed the small woman. "Dry yourself off, Sir. Follow Jane to your room, there are clean clothes there. Once you are dressed, give Jane your clothing."

Dr. Edmondson directed Rossignol's gaze to Jane, an older woman, worn from years of menial labor. She smiled to him and encouraged him to follow her. Rossignol's heart thundered, he wanted to get back to Georgia, not pamper himself.

"Monsieur Rossignol, please, you will be no good to her if you are ill. And you will give me yet another patient. Martha and Rachel are preparing her room and Henry is preparing a stew for her. She'll have plenty of fluids before we start the bleeding process."

Bleeding! He was familiar with this and knew that an error by the physician or the patient's own blood defects could be fatal. There was no way to know if she would be harmed if she was bloodlet. "Do you have ginger, garlic, or oregano? It'll stave off an infection. Uh, do you have salt? Yes, good, mix it with warm water. Make her black tea as well, with honey and vanilla if you have it."

Edmondson gaped at Rossignol with a mix of awe and disbelief. "I heard you were wealthy salvager. Are you a physician? An apothecarist?"

He survived in the wilds with nothing but nature to guide him. Then there was his blessed French family who passed remedies from their land onto him. His time in Italy also introduced him to the miracles of the Mediterranean peoples. His status as an outcast afforded him with vasts amounts of knowledge. "I love Miss Daniels. Help her."

Rossignol followed Jane up the stairs to the room across the hall from Georgia's room. He watched briefly as Martha and Rachel worked to get the fire in Georgia's room roaring. Towels were set out on a chair and a fresh set of undergarments and a wool dress was set out for her. A bloodletting bowel was situated on a nightstand. She deserved better than being cut open, not after what he saved her from. Not after saving her from Victor.

After entering the room, he shut the door and stared at the clothing and boots laid out for him. It was as if everyone but he knew this would happen? Did the residents of southern England see him as their savior? Were they all riding on the hope that he would put an end to Adler's evil? It made him shake with fury. A family was destroyed because they were too afraid to act. As soon as Georgia was well, he would take her away, he would take her to their new home.

Water pooled around his muddy boots. He worked to undo the buckles and pull his wet socks and feet free. Pulling the stockings and his trousers off, he made his way over to a chair holding a set of clean towels. Rossignol peeled the clinging layers of clothing from his body and worked furiously to dry himself. He wiped a towel over his mask and set it atop the mantel of his fireplace and stood close to the fire to warm his flesh. As feeling began returning, he returned to his bed and dressed in the thick winter clothing set out for him. He was reminded of his time before journeying to Venice; before he made something of himself.

Once dressed, he tied his mask back on and used the now soaking towels to scoop up his clothing and muddy boots. Jane stood patiently outside the door and took the garments from him.

"Quickly! Get her up the stairs. Martha!" Came Edmonson's voice in a rush. He raced up the stairs and stopped at the door of Georgia's room. Sir John then came up the stairs with Georgia in his arms. Her head swayed while her arms dangled limply. Behind them Rossignol's cloak trailed, barely secured about his beloved.

"She passed out, Rossignol!" Cried Nettie, despairing over Georgia and trying desperately to make sure her head did not make contact with the wall.

Rossignol rushed from his room to follow Georgia.

"Women only!" Cried Martha. "We've got to strip her. You," she pointed at Nettie, "hold her up. Shut the door, Rachel."

The men were then banned and shoved from the room. "Gabriel?" asked a small voice. He turned to find Eva holding her grandfather's hand, leading him up the stairs to his room.

Rossignol offered his hand to Monsieur De Lacey and led him to the room next to his. He looked around for towels and fresh clothes. When there were none, he ran off to find Jane. She was behind the Frankensteins, arms full of clean towels.

"I know, Monsieur. Take these to the gentleman. Help him get warm and dry while we tend to your miss." She tossed the towels to him. A sheen of sweat began to glisten on her brow. "Check the wardrobe, I think there's a nightie for the girl. We didn't expect this many of you."

With her deposit in his arms, Jane raced back down the stairs. Below he could hear the policemen, talking, telling the owner, whom Rossignol had not yet met, about the death of Lady Adler and that they had the body of another woman with them. Agatha was to be held in the cellar to keep her cold until she could be buried. They talked quickly, exchanging the news about a cottage burning to the ground Rossignol and Frankenstein managed to torch his laboratory and torture chamber— Adler's torture chamber. The Grizzling truth would remain a secret and the rest of Deliah would never be discovered.

Returning to Monsieur De Lacey's room, Rossignol set the towels on the small bed. Another small bed sat on the opposite side of the room. As he surveyed the room he noticed the lack of a fire in the hearth. Logs were stacked neatly to one side before he tossed them onto the cold stone. Flint rocks were stationed upon the mantel with several nicknacks and a silhouette drawing of two young women he assumed were Martha and Rachel. After striking the rocks together with minimal luck Rossignol finally managed to get a spark to hit the wood. The flames rose lazily and reluctantly, more eager to return to its slumber than to roar to life. He blew on it to fan it out before allowing it to grow on its own.

By the bed, Eva was attempting to remove Monsieur De Lacey's shoes. She shivered repeatedly before Rossignol pulled her over to the fire to warm herself while he finished removing the old man's shoes.

"They don't have enough clothing for everyone," he whispered to Monsieur De Lacey. He was overcome with childlike fear. Would this man remember how he sat at his table and ate his food? Would he remember the music he played while Rossignol and Eva danced together? Would he remember Rossignol's tearful supplications of aid and mercy?

De Lacey put his hand to Rossignol's mask. "Gabriel iz a fine name. Rossignol iz a beautiful one. I am Rene, Monsieur."

Rossignol lost all composure and wept at the old man's knees. He switched to French and took a deep breath. "I will look after the two of you for as long as I live, I swear it." He pulled away from the old man and went to the wardrobe. There were three sleeping gowns inside, a shawl, and several rather worn blankets. "I found something for you, monsieur."

"Eva, mon amour, leave ze room a moment." The girl stood without question and shut the men inside. Rossignol helped the old man change his clothes. It broke his heart to see him so thin and worn, and dirty. Rossignol tucked him into his bed with a cluster of pillows propping him up and fetched Eva. The girl changed behind a screen and wrapped a shawl around herself. Her feet were naked against the cold floor. Taking their clothing, Rossignol left them and made his way down the stairs to the lobby of the inn.

The inn's staff ran around the lower floor in a maddening distress. Three were cooking in the kitchen, while two others, Jane being one of them, worked furiously at the dirty clothing they continued to receive. Jane sighed when she saw Rossignol carrying more work for her, but she took the damp clothes without complaint. Several police officers remained behind and were warming themselves in the small dining hall. They sat huddled together, chatting over a plate of bread.

"This place was once one of the finest inns in all Southampton," said one.

"A nice mix of city appeals with feel and delight of the country," answered the other.

"I heard the Duke of Somerset once stayed here a fortnight, waylaid with a sprained ankle."

Their accents were less refined and articulate compared to Georgia's. She hailed from the gentry class and was brought up since birth to speak with an entirely separate air than the common class was. To Rossignol, they appeared like simpletons, idly talking about the most mundane and ill-informed topics. Rossignol navigated past them towards the bar and followed the counter around until he was at the entrance of the kitchen.

"Ah, Mr. Rossignol!" Greeted one of the kitchen staff. He was young and handsome, dressed in dark trousers hidden by a dirty apron. He quickly became embarrassed at his appearance. " _Monsieur Rossignol,_ forgive me. We've been told to keep you all well rested and tended to; what may we do for you, Sir?"

The creeping savage life he led before finding the De Lacey's leered at him; if this boy or any of the others in the inn saw his face he would be cast out into the sloshing rain pouring outside. He felt vain, but without his finer clothes, without the money he had secured and concealed by various means, he felt no more than a meagerly dressed beggar. This place was not his element, it was unfamiliar and he had Georgia's family as his only protection. Would Sir John cast him aside when he looked nothing like he had in Italy?

Anxiety gripped his heart and a faint buzzing assaulted his mind. "The elder gentleman and his granddaughter, Miss Eva, require drink and food. I am afraid my fears for Miss Daniels are making me restless and I should like to put myself to good use. Fix me a tray, good sir, and I shall deliver it to them."

Rossignol pulled out a silver coin and handed it to the boy. Nettie and Sir John made sure he received his money before his belongings were taken to be cleaned and dried. His adventures were beginning to weigh on him and the death of the Italian only added to the tension building around the plans he had set in motion. If he lost Georgia, it wouldn't matter if his business went crashing down, but if— no, _when_ — she recovered he would need his additional exploits to pay off. Never before had he been so frightened of an uncertain future.

"Right away, sir," replied the handsome fellow.

Having something to occupy his mind and hands helped when he felt himself turning to despair, he felt less restless. In all his time preparing for Georgia he had never once despaired, but now everything seemed turned on its side. Wasn't he supposed to be planning a wedding with his bride-to-be? Was he always to be cursed?

In the kitchen, plates were shuffled around. Hot liquid was poured into small cups, the fresh aroma of tea swirled in the air. Though not at their best, the kitchen staff offered their finest, as if desperately trying to mimic their past selves. A dash of brandy was added to both cups of tea and stirred in with a silver spoon. Upon the stew, several leaves of basil were added for additional flavor and smell.

The handsome man returned with the tray. "Allow me to carry it for you, sir. Gentleman cannot be seen doing such idle tasks. You must allow us to show our English hospitality. At least, sir, to make up for what has been done to all of you. You mustn't think poorly of the English; Lady Adler represented us abysmally."

Rossignol conceded. There was no use in trying to combat their ways. He followed the handsome man up the stairs and into the De Lacey's room. Eva was by the fireplace, stoking the fire with her small hands. Moving to her, Rossignol took the poker from her and told her to sit at the small table by the window. Tossing in a few more logs brought the fire roaring back to life and cast a warm glow on the darkening room. The light of the day was nearly extinguished by the suffocating grey clouds.

He remained with them for a few moments before returning to his room to watch the Georgia's room. It didn't take long for him to become familiar with patterns in the wooden door. Years of people touching the door accumulated in a thick, dark gloss of wax covering the handle and the area around it. His watery blue eyes sat transfixed on the door handle, waiting for it to turn.

The last whimpering rays of grey light disappeared and all that remained for lighting were the slowly melting candles and the dying fire next to him. After some time, the handsome man brought Rossignol his own meal, but he let it cool as he waited for Georgia. Only when his stomach demanded food did he eat. His mask sat on his lap while he ate and watched.

An hour passed before the door opened. Rossignol leapt from his seat, the mask clattered to the floor. Dr. Edmondson exited the room and stared at Rossignol. The dull light shielded him from the scorn that surely would have ensued if the doctor had been able to see him clearly.

"She is awake, and asking for you. Monsieur Rossignol, she is still very weak and her fever is quite high. Do not tarry long, sir." He then traveled down the hall. He had one other patient, Elizabeth, who had become withdrawn and despondent. She was sedated, but he felt it necessary to see her before he checked on Monsieur De Lacey.

"Thank you," cried Rossignol in relief. He flew past the doctor and swung open the door to Georgia's room. Nettie and Martha were seated together on a sofa and the latter gasped at the sight of Rossignol before blushing. She excused herself per Nettie's request while Rossignol went to Georgia.

Her face and lips were pale, her eyes heavy and sunken. Pillows were fluffy and abundant, keeping her propped up and comfortable. Fire roared in the hearth as a source of light and additional warmth along with the many blankets tucked around Georgia's weak form. "Gabriel!" She cried in a broken voice. Gone was the delicate softness of her soothing voice, in place of it was a scratchy, rough timbre, almost like paper being torn. Rossignol hid his cringe and sadness. Her voice would return, wouldn't it?

He went to her and knelt on the floor next to her. "I am here," he declared, unable to sustain the faux courage in his voice. Rossignol took her hand into his and placed his other upon her sweaty brow. "Do not move, my darling."

"I love you," said she suddenly. A desperate madness lined her green irises. Was she afraid?

Quickly, he rose and sat on the bed with her. He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. "I know. _Mon perce-neige,_ be still and rest."

"No," she wept, "I really, truly love you."

Her anguish struck a nerve in him. " _Je t'aime._ What can I say?" He kissed her, her lips felt fragile and cracked. Rossignol then sat back and smiled. He took a deep breath and with his oddly inflected voice, he began to sing:

" _Sommeil, belle Géorgie, la chanson que je chante._

 _Que ma mélodie vous transporter loin, les domaines où vous avez volé mon coeur._

 _Allez dormir, femme de feu, et laissez-moi chanter._

 _Pour Je t'aime tellement profondément qu'il me rend faible."_

Peace found its way back to her and she settled languidly against her pillows. A cloth sat on the table next to the bed, Rossignol took it and wiped the sweat from her brow and neck. His fingers left trails of heated as he ran them down her temple to her jaw. She obeyed him and quietly drifted off to sleep once more.

With an awkward creak, the door of the room was pushed open. Annoyed at being disturbed without proper notification, Rossignol turned to find that Eva stood at the threshold of the room. The young girl held onto Sir John's hand as they entered. Their arrival stirred an exhausted Nettie and brought her to her feet.

"Dr. Edmondson informs me that it is perfectly safe for Eva to enter. She wants to look after our beloved Georgia. Monsieur Rossignol, may I have a word?" Sir John relinquished his hold on Eva and allowed her venture over to Nettie.

Rossignol kissed Georgia's clammy forehead and took her empty dishes with him. He would see to it that another broth was made for her. Nettie instructed Eva in her care for Georgia as Rossignol took his leave. The laborious breathing of his love broke his heart.

"Sir John, what is it?"

Dull grey light cloaked Rossignol's figure as well as Sir John's, but the former's eyesight was far superior, it did not matter him how dull or bright the lighting was. Sir John's hands clenched and trembled, frightening Rossignol into insisting that his companion speak.

"I was informed that Bernardo has been apprehended. They've got him locked away in town. He is to be extradited back to Italy, but there is no telling when that might be. I've been told he is to be charged with Deliah and Lady Adler's murders. The Italians hold him accountable for Miss Rizoli's death as well. He has a slew of charges there." But as Sir John spoke he moved with severe agitation as if on the verge of delivering more news.

This would not do. Rossignol refused to play any more games. He would get the answers he wanted. "Sir John, what is troubling you? I have not the time for turbid talk."

Sir John nodded, flustered. "Being in my native country pains me as much as it does Georgia. We nearly lost everything and it was my fault. I loved her father. It cost me many relationships, but a few friends remain true, a few family members."

He knew the truth long ago, but Sir John's confession unnerved him. What did he mean by it? Rossignol waited patiently trying to understand the severe man who seemed ready to crack.

"Georgia has been a daughter to me. A constant, not a variable to be removed or played with. She is the sole reminder of her father and my promise to him on his deathbed:' keep her safe'. Bernardo lied and toyed with us both. He wrought as much havoc as Lady Adler. I need to understand why and I think you do too."

There was no denying the truth of his words, Rossignol felt it keenly. What reason did Bernardo have in seeking to harm Georgia? Why did he kill Delia? For it was him who murdered their treacherous servant. In Venice, he was the only person who spoke English and this singular fact revealed the frayed threads of a plot they had somehow missed. Both men felt a chill fall over them as they pondered the notion of a conspiracy. Who could be trusted? Those harmed by Lady Adler were not her friends and those that feared her no longer had any fear of her and thus no longer posed a threat. They were far from understanding the full truth of it all.

"You propose to leave now?" Asked Rossignol. They would reach the town before the first glimmer of dark amber light lit up the horizon. Sir John nodded, he was dressed in his own clothes and ready to leave in an instant. "I will fetch my mask and then my clothing from Jane." Rossignol's watery eyes went to Georgia's room once again. A pale hand reached out to caress the door as if she could feel his love seeping through it. "She is safe. Frankenstein wouldn't dare lay a hand on her now."

A dreary quiet settled over the brick and stone of the prison. The prisoners were asleep or seated a deadened stupor, depressed with their own woes. Several nursed wounds inflicted by several abusive guards already gone home for the evening. The quiet was a perfect cover for Sir John and Rossignol as they were led past the many cells with men chained up. It would not due for Rossignol be jeered at, he had had enough of it from his failed attempts at becoming one with humanity. This place was suffocating enough without the noise.

"Bernardo Carlossi," called the guard as he struck his baton against the metal of the prison cell. "Visitors." He opened the cell and allowed the gentlemen to pass through.

Seeing him sitting on the floor with his hands chained to the wall gave his visitors a satisfied sort of feeling. Bernardo was where he ought to be. He stirred as looked towards them. Blood had dried in its course down his face. Bruises and small cuts dashed across his face and his neck. Angry bruises clawed at his chest, desperate to be seen. His eyes were heavy and dark as he perceived Rossignol and Sir John.

"You know why we're here," hissed Rossignol. It took every ounce of his strength not to ripped the man from his bindings and finish him off there.

Bernardo coughed. "Does it matter? I am finished. I was finished the moment I came to this godforsaken country ten years ago. I should tell my story now, I suppose. I'll be executed in Italy or I'll be executed here. I suppose going to America is out of the question?"

Rossignol felt his hands trembling, but it was Sir John who spoke next. "Why would you ally yourself with Lady Adler? Why offer your services to Monsieur Rossignol just to kill someone he loved? Someone who did you no harm?"

A harsh laugh escaped Bernardo. "Money," he declared as he rolled his throbbing head to one side. "Adler owned me, she owned my debts. I've never been a good man, and this wasn't the first time I ever hurt anyone, nor the first time I ever killed. I enjoyed the game, I suppose. The wealthy elite are so simple in their desires, but they scheme like nothing I have ever seen. There's a thirst in them that can't be quenched."

His bruised eyes gazed up at Rossignol. There was no sense of shame or understanding that he ought to be ashamed; Bernardo stared only with a subtle amusement. The manacles latched around his wrists bit into his flesh violently.

"I was going to America, to start over. Put all these. . . unpleasantness behind me and take what Adler paid me." He chuckled humorlessly. "Have you come to kill me, _Monsieur_ Rossignol? I take it Signorina Daniels is still alive? I doubt I would still have my head if she wasn't."

Rossignol slid one foot forward, he was taunt like and arrow to a bowstring, ready to fire at a deadly speed. A timid touch from Sir John held him at bay. Sir John appeared gaze but content with Bernardo's answers, they had nothing else to go on to get to the heart of the truth: why was Georgia the target? Why would people help Adler kill her? They would get nothing more from Bernardo.

"You are a man without conscientious, without passion, without love; I will not kill you because that is too good for you," stated Rossignol. "I will not be at your trial or your execution. I will be married, living my life with the most beautiful woman in the world. I will forget you."

He felt weightless as he stared down at the Italian man. He straightened himself up and backed away from a man he thought he trusted. Bernardo was shackled to a wall, bruises covered his form, he appeared small and broken. Pathetic. Turning his back on the Italian was almost rewarding— as if he was leaving the past behind in broken shambles, and moving toward the bright new day on the horizon. They left Bernardo on the floor, they left the dank chill of the prison and the early morning shouts of prisoners. The first book of his life was written and was being closed; Rossignol was eager to begin the next one, one that started with his union to Georgia.

 **A/N: Rossignol's song. Google translates it weird, I'm sorry about that. My husband speaks French but he isn't very helpful with my stories.**

 **Sleep, beautiful Georgia, to the song that I sing. Let my melody carry you far, to the fields where you stole my heart. Go to sleep, fiery maiden, and let me sing. For I love you so deeply that it makes me weak.**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Music filled her ears and her mind. Notes swirled in like gowns during a waltz, looping in rounds, starting new melodies, beginning new movements. An orchestra was forming around her while her fingers itched to join the dance. A smile etched it's way onto her face as she peeled open her eyes.

A carven white mask watched her. The lips of the mask were painted gold while a gold and silver fish scale pattern was painted on the right corner of the mask, from the nose to the temple. If the mask could smile in return, it would have. But beneath the cover, the wearer grinned so widely the mask had to be readjusted once he regained control of himself.

"You miss it, your music?" He asked.

"Do you not?" she questioned, almost frightened. She sat up in her bed. A warm blush enflamed her face. "Of course, you do. Worry not, I have composed another piece."

This amused him greatly. "You've arrangement an entire movement; are you creating a concerto? It sounds lovely. Oh, yes, you have been singing it in your sleep for some time now. And your fingers! I imagine they miss playing."

Laughter filled the room as she looked towards the mask. "Yes, they miss playing."

"I've always been enamored by how quickly your fingers move and how precise they strike each key."

Her face flushed once more. "There will be time soon enough for you to be further impressed with my fingers when they're used to unbutton and untie your clothing."

"Miss Daniels!" Cried Nettie. Her book dropped to her lap while her jaw hung open, stunned. Georgia and Rossignol roared with laughter, they shared a mutual and wicked pleasure in shocking Nettie. "I believe you are well enough to be out of bed. Monsieur Rossignol, before you corrupt Miss Daniels any further, I must ask you to remove yourself."

Nettie set her book on a small end table and moved to the wardrobe to pull out a dress for Georgia. She quickly wrapped her loose braid and fasten it in a bun against her head. Tapping her foot, she waited for Rossignol to take his leave. His tall form towered over Nettie and over Georgia who cautiously lifted herself from her bed. They clasped their hands and pressed their foreheads together. Georgia kissed the painted lips of Rossignol's mask. As they separated he took her loose curls and let them fall through his fingers like liquid silk. He left Georgia to dress and descend the steps of the inn to watch as his father prepared to depart the Inn and England.

The Frankensteins were somber, quietly gathering themselves and what bit of their belongs they managed to find after their captivity. Elizabeth was shut inside their carriage almost immediately. With a hesitant glance, Alfonse looked to Rossignol before disappearing behind the dark doors of their vessel. Victor was the last, and the most melancholy of the three. Sleep evaded him with merciless spite; his complexion was pale and despite the chill of the weather, a gleam of sweat seemed an ever permanent fixture upon his flesh. His gaze fell on Rossignol, for a moment, his creation thought he might swoon. Victor held himself together, at least long enough to bow his head in shame before ordering the driver to depart as he disappeared within the carriage as well.

Rossignol sighed, feeling his eyes burn, he shut them tightly. In the face of all that he had endured and all that he inflicted, his heart still yearned to be accepted by Victor. Was he asking too much? He felt an arm wrap around his waist, followed by the touch of a much improved Georgia. She felt like a blanket, wrapping him in her protective mantle.

"Let him be your devil no longer, my love," she said. "Are you ready? I think Nettie will have a fit if we are not in the carriage within the hour. Also, I suspect Lord and Lady Dunham are quite anxious. I haven't seen them in an entire year!"

She was rambling. He didn't understand why; perhaps she knew they would remain together, their relationship now honest and open. They needn't fear secrecy or fear being caught. They needn't fear horrific screams ending their time together.

"I am ready to meet them. Will Mrs. Davenport be there? I think I need a list of people we are to meet."

Georgia blushed profusely. "Well," she replied, "if meeting people who aren't trying to kill us is such a bother. . . ."

"Nothing," he stopped her, "you do could bother me." Rossignol took her hands in his and leaned low to her, his mask mere inches from her face. "I am utterly devoted to you."

"Are we to be sent to the poor house?" Asked a timid voice from behind them. Both Rossignol and Georgia turned to see as two men were carrying out Monsieur De Lacey who had, in the recent days, become immobile. Walking alongside Nettie was Eva, who looked about in distress. She tried in vain to mask her fear.

Both Georgia and Rossignol approached what was left of the De Lacey family. Georgia took Eva's hands into hers and knelt down before her. Rossignol did the same with Monsieur De Lacey when the chair he sat in was placed on the ground.

"Monsieur De Lacey," started Rossignol as his heart thundered against his ribs. "You were so kind to me before. I was completely lost and desolately alone. You offered me food and music, company and kindness. Since the day I was torn from the first family I ever knew, I have done everything I could think of to obtain some semblance of that life. I have mourned the loss of your family— my family— every day. My heart has broken for you a thousand times over."

Monsieur De Lacey began to weep as he listened. He pulled a hand free to touch Rossignol's face. He quietly asked him to remove the mask. Fear crept in, but Rossignol did as he was asked. The pale grey face of Frankenstein's creation stared hopefully up at his old benefactor.

"I swear to you, on all that I love, that I will never abandon you, never abandon Eva. Georgia and I shall look after you both and you shall want for nothing. I will not suffer you to the agony of poverty and loneliness. If you do not wish to remain with us, we will give you a home and you will be looked after."

Tears slid down his face. Monsieur De Lacey's wrinkled hands touched every inch of Rossignol's face and wiped the unyielding tears away. "You are my son." His scratchy voice choked out sobs. He would never again hear Felix's voice, nor Agatha's, they were lost to him forever. It was in this old stranger that he felt renewed hope. "My son weeps at my feet after avenging his brother, burying his sister, and saving my granddaughter along with my new daughter. I ask only this: when I am gone, care for Eva as if she were yours."

The words barely left his lips when Rossignol grabbed Eva and Georgia's hands and pressed them against Monsieur De Lacey's palms. "I can guarantee that. We can guarantee that." He kissed each hand he held and wept. This was his family, everything he had ever hoped for. Nothing could compare to the elation he felt.

The five of them sat quietly for the duration of their journey. Eva and Monsieur De Lacey slept soundly while Georgia occasionally dozed with her head pressed against Rossignol. Each time her eyes snapped open or she adjusted her position for maximum comfort, Rossignol took the opportunity to glance out the window. Despite their assured safety at the death of their enemy, the harbinger of their shared misery, Rossignol still felt anxious. Lady Adler was most certainly not alone in her affairs, there were others who might be willing to harm Georgia.

At length, Rossignol felt restless and pressed his cool fingertips to his temples to quell the pain he felt in his head. An angry fury pounded him. If he could convince his mind and body to unite in rest then perhaps it would end; fear, however, poked him with horrid images of Georgia's beautiful head severed from the rest of her, unable to smile, dance, or play her beloved music. He would go mad, he was sure of it, but he was not alone in his worries. He often felt Georgia tremble and clutch his hand, it was his mere voice that allowed her to drift back to sleep.

During the course of their journey, Nettie found herself dozing every so often, but she did her best to snap awake as she was charged with keeping Eva from slumping to the floor. Eva clung to Nettie and would have done the same to Georgia if she didn't fear she would insult Georgia's rank. This thought amused Rossignol who now saw the passengers in the carriage as his family. Would Eva cower before the Dunham's sprawling mansion? She would be humble and quiet, quite unlike the girl she had been before. She was no longer the friendly girl greeting strangers and asking all manner of questions. Now, she was reserved and hard, storing away the information she stole with her quietness.

His family suffered horrendously and he feared he would never be able to liberate them of this fear, especially when his own fear seemed determined to drive him mad.

With a startled jerk, Georgia snapped awake and threw herself against the door to her right. Her chest heaved as her breath shortened itself. Wide eyes darted like a spooked animal. She was somewhere else, about to feel the final kiss of a hair thin blade. Rossignol had her by the wrist and gently pushed her against the corner of the carriage. The sound of his voice calling her name steadied her heart and lulled her into a sobbing mess against Rossignol. He held her close as she wept.

"A-are we almost there, Miss Nettie?" asked Eva. She and her grandfather were wide awake; Monsieur De Lacey's face was grave as he listened to Georgia's terrified sobs.

"A few more hours and we'll be there, my dear." Nettie offered a forced smile and hugged the girl tighter. "A few more hours."

Darkness descended upon the countryside; the sun fled and gave way to a quiet moon just as the carriage pulled up to the home of Sir John's sister. Lord Dunham and Sir John stood waiting to receive them and immediately opened the doors of the carriage once it came to a stop. Nettie was the first person out, followed by Eva whose eyes devoured the much friendlier home of their host. A servant brought forth a chair once Lord Dunham and Sir John helped removed Monsieur De Lacey from the small confines of the carriage. Rossignol was next to emerge, he presented his arms to Georgia and set her upon the ground.

Exhaustion, coupled with her fear, left her eyes sunk and her skin pale. "Lord Dunham," she greeted, her voice was hazy and felt distant to her.

"She isn't ill again, is she?" He asked Rossignol.

"This is my fiance, Lord Dunham. Tell Lady Catherine that I am to be married at last!"

Through the mask, Rossignol's blue eyes found Lord Dunham's concerned gaze. "I gave her a sleeping tonic prescribed by Dr. Edmondson. She is feeling the effects of it, but she does need to eat. Do you have porridge available, Lord Dunham? I hate to impose such a triviality on you, good sir; Miss Daniels has not eaten since we left and the tonic will soon render her inert."

Lord Dunham moved quickly and scooped Georgia into his arms and carried her off with Rossignol rushing after them. "I was told of your impeccable manners, Monsieur," he shouted back to a distraught Rossignol. They passed the entrance of the mansion, Rossignol ignored the replicas of famous Roman sculptures of beautiful women reaching out. "Please, set decorum aside for your bride-to-be. I am taking her to her room."

Lord Dunham rushed up the grand staircase leading to the second floor and followed the landing passed several doors, almost making a circle above the entrance of his home. He brushed passed a servant and followed an obscured hall to where his guest rooms were. "Ah, Lady Catherine, do you have the porridge?"

At the door stood a woman holding a candle next to her servant holding a tray with Rossignol's requested dish. "Of course, my love. We added some honey to it. Our Miss Georgia loves honey. The room is ready, my love."

Georgia was ushered into the room and set upon the turned down bed. Pillows were fluffed and layered to prop her up. A tray was set on her lap and the bowl of porridge was set before her. Candles were lit so that she could see her food and her companions. Her eyes lingered on each person around her and languidly turned back to her food.

"Lord Dunham, I will remain with Monsieur Rossignol and Georgia. Will you see to the others?" asked the lady of the house.

Lord Dunham smiled to his wife and left them. Rossignol started to approach Georgia but stopped short. He could not be so open with his affection, despite his burning desire to do so. It pained him to watch her when she seemed so weak.

"Please, Monsieur Rossignol," continued Lady Dunham. Her countenance was bright and warm, she exuded an air of familiarity. Rossignol found this to very strange indeed given that she out ranked both him and Georgia. "Sit with her and have no fear of whispers."

"My lady, whispers destroyed Georgia's life here. I'll not be the cause of further agony and grief for her in her native country. Not after endeavoring to be honorable for her. She is too sweet and amiable— angelic and precious to me to tarnish her reputation."

"Oh, aunt," exalted Georgia with her dreamlike incandesce. A dribble of porridge was hastily wiped from her chin by a servant. "Gabriel is a poet! I love him."

The servant took the food and tray away from Georgia and brought a chair up to the bed for Rossignol to sit. Lady Dunham extended her hand, gesturing for him to sit. Despite his protests, she left the room and sat outside, leaving the couple alone in the room. Rossignol readjusted the pillows so that Georgia would be more comfortable before sitting back to watch her drift off to sleep.

"Thank you, my love," she whispered, the lids of her eyes were heavy.

For what? Saving her, she responded. He would always save her, he would always be there. He traced her jawline and then followed the line of her bottom lip. She smiled faintly before finally succumbing to the tonic. He sat for a long time watching her breath before he felt night's embracing slumber call out to him.

 **A/N: The first chapter of my currently untitled sequel will posted in August. I hope you all will follow me was a writer so that you will get the notice for when it is posted. Or just keep checking the Frankenstein pages. Georgia and Rossignol are being patient with me as I try to learn about their next adventures. We are in for a trip, I think, if they keep chattering away. We shall see some characters from the original novel just to bring it back to the ground work. I will also do my best to recall scenes from the Hallmark movie since that is the world my story is based in. Message me or comment here if there is something you'd like to see in the sequel. Thanks, as always.**

 *******Update: This is not the last chapter. I realized that the message above might have been confusing. There are two more chapters and an epilogue. Sorry!******


	23. Chapter 23

**I will try not to confuse anyone this time. :) There is ONE more chapter and an epilogue. They will be posted at the same time because chapter 24 does have a much more adult theme and scene. Half of it is fine, and anyone can read it, but the second half of chapter 24 is for mature audiences. If that is not something to want, you may proceed to the epilogue. I will try and get those posted within the next week. At the end of the epilogue I will give you an idea of what to expect in the next story, but not too much ;)**

A month had passed since they began their stay at the Dunhams' estate where Georgia was received like a long-lost daughter and Rossignol's new family found comfort. Her recovery was steady, hindered briefly by fits of melancholy depression. Every effort was made to restore her to her natural self. At length, she grew lively and jovial as she was finally able to be open about her relationship with Rossignol. With the aid of his friends, the remaining De Lacey clan, and Georgia's benefactors, Rossignol became more at ease with the great home of Lord Dunham. He took great liberty to learn what he could of England and what he could do to improve Georgia's life and bring her to the home he had waiting for her in France.

During his time in Rathstone Hall, the home of Lord Dunham, Rossignol received several replies concerning his business— there was still much he had not told Georgia. He was never idle. Salvaging proved to be a success for him, so well, in fact, he had actually obtained a partner and a business. The company was small and independent, as least from him. He grossed an honest sum in profits for both his name and the promise of meeting his business partner twice a year. It was an ideal plan for him: his time could thus be spent with his wife and they would be content in their life.

After sending a reply to one of his letters, Rossignol came upon Georgia in the library. She sat with Eva pouring over English and French books. They were translations, well, one was, and Rossignol could not be certain which. The pair giggled over their errors; Georgia was fluent in French but still had difficulty reading it. The sight warmed Rossignol's heart and he stood watching them for a long while.

"Are you not going to sit with us, Monsieur Rossignol?" Georgia teased. She and Eva shut their books and began reshelving them. "If you are not too overwhelmed from your many meetings, my love, Mrs. Davenport is coming with her husband. I believe the Archduke of Canterbury has given us consent to marry here."

This was splendid news indeed! Feelings of tranquility began to descend upon him and he rushed to Georgia, taking a book from her hand and handing her his letters. "No matter the outcome of the court's decision about your wealth, you will want for nothing, Georgia."

Her countenance grew bright as she read through the letters concerning his labors. She was proud that he had not succumbed to hopelessness. Instead, he made them a life out of nothing, just as his life was made and granted from nothing. "I would live in a cottage that housed our family and overlooked a garden. I would work the land and wear a woolen dress of plain color if it meant I could be with you. I would live in a hut with you, just as long as you were always there." Tears quietly rolled down her cheeks. "I am so proud of you."

Not caring that Eva remained with them, Rossignol grabbed Georgia by her face and kissed her. Unaware and unphased by his strength, he pushed Georgia against a bookcase. Instead of whimpering out in pain, Georgia only became more engrossed in their exchange. "People," she stated breathlessly between the kisses, "spend all of their energy taking and taking, but you give and give without demanding favors. You expect nothing. How can you be so good and so perfect?"

He ended their kiss but kept his lips close to hers, his warm breath sent shivers down her aching body, she wanted more from him. "I have done terrible things, my darling. I am neither good nor perfect, but you have made me benevolent and tender. I would be neither of those things if you had not shown me the love I have often been denied."

Behind them, Eva coughed. Blushing, Georgia backed away from Rossignol just enough to turn and face the girl. "I'm sorry, dear sister," she laughed. " Shall we go for a walk?"

"Will the two of you continue kissing?"

They both burst out laughing. Georgia rushed towards the girl, and taking her hand, they raced from the room shouting for Rossignol to follow. He gave them a moment's head start before pursuing them. Georgia's light yellow frock snapped in the air as she clung to a giggling Eva. "Quick! Down the stairs! Outside, sister!"

They raced down the stairs with Rossignol hot on their trail. As a mercy, he allowed them to maintain their advance, he had superior speed and stamina and could easily overtake them, but then their fun would be at an end. They went down the stairs carefully, but quickly and when they reached the base, Eva and Georgia rounded the banister and raced into the parlor. Rossignol hit the ground floor and within an instant, a woman screamed. He shrank, and like a cornered animal, he wilted and looked around with wide eyes to find the sources of the shrieking. There was no one that he saw. He rounded the barrister and landed just behind Georgia and Eva.

"Miss Daniels! That scar is horrid! Make use of those _illustrious_ locks of hair and cover that up!" A young woman stood at the entrance of the parlor. She had not been announced, only just arriving as Eva and Georgia were running around. Her sneer was wound tight like the string of a piano ready to snap.

Georgia brought Eva close to her and wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulder. "Lynette!"

Lynette sighed and rolled her eyes. "Miss Worthington, Miss Daniels. I had no idea of you being here. How— oh, good God, what is that!"

Lynette's eyes went wide as she backed away. Georgia turned to see Rossignol standing, he wore no mask and his features were completely visible to someone he had never met before. The familiar feeling of old beating resurfaced as did the cruelty of every person he met before his Georgia. As Lynette began shrieking the Rossignol was a monster, Georgia threw her hands up to shield his face.

"You've no right, Miss Worthington, no right at all," cried Georgia. She looked to Rossignol and saw the pain in his eyes. "Do not be afraid of her, my love. She has no power here, nor is she welcomed," whispered Georgia.

"W-what did you say her name was?" he asked. A nauseated feeling of dread washed over him.

"Worthington," answered Georgia.

Lynette's lips quivered, half in fear, half in detestation. Lady Adler mentioned Georgia's beau but she never could capture his exact image. He was grotesque, to say the least,and Lynette found herself itching to return to town and let the whole city learn of the monster that was to wed Miss Daniels.

"You are not welcomed here. Begone," Rossignol said suddenly. He stood tall and proud, like a lord ready to deliver and impassioned speech to his subjects. He gently pulled Georgia's hands from his face and stepped before her. Eva was quickly moved out of the way and both stood in the protection of Rossignol. "Return to your father and tell him that he is not to come to this house or disturb any of my friends. And, Madam, you are not to approach Miss Georgia Daniels, even when she becomes Madame Georgia Rossignol."

Lynette's face went scarlet. "How dare you! You will not speak to me thus and you, Miss Daniels, should teach your fiance his place in society. It is in the gutter with you!"

"Miss Worthington, you'll do well to cease with your shrieking and remove yourself from this house presently." Sir John stood, as proud as any man of his esteem would, at the entrance of an adjacent hall. His face was neutral, but firm. "Return to your carriage and return to town."

She could say nothing to him, even when affronted. Her thin lips clamped shut as her eyes fell upon Georgia and Rossignol one last time before she stormed away. Her feet carried her quickly, her gait was oppressive was short and quick. Once she was gone Sir John approached the startled trio.

"Monsieur Rossignol," he started, his face furrowed, his countenance became apologetic. "While on the ground floor, I must ask that you keep your mask on. This household respects and admires you, but our guests are not always so kind. Georgia is sure to remember their cruelty and my family has been picked apart enough as it is."

Georgia became indignant, her breath quickened and a fury began to consume her. She stepped forward, quickly assaulting Sir John with a barrage of questions. "Sir John, must you speak thus? Are we not friends? Is this the manner in which we treat our friends?"

A hand reached out and gently pulled Georgia back. Rossignol bent down so that his forehead touched hers. She winced at the contact against her healing wound. His watery eyes froze her in place and she felt an overwhelming longing to kiss undefined lips. "He is right, my love. Take Eva upstairs and fetch my mask, please?" She was reluctant to leave. "This request is not out of cruelty to me, he lords no ill will over us, this is out of love. I am in awe of the love people have for you. I am not jealous, I want to add to it. Do you understand what you have inspired in me?"

Agitation and a conflicting desire to understand swept over her features. "You deserve better. A life where people do not fear or scorn you. A life where they see what I see."

Her passion touched him, he felt his soul reaching out to hers. "They shall, someday." Rossignol kissed her forehead and then urged Georgia and Eva upstairs to complete the task he had given to them. When he turned he found Sir John attempting to mask his emotions. He felt more than he let on, but he had dedicated his life to keeping his own sacred secret, and expression became harder for him to master.

"Mr. and Mrs. Davenport will be here within a few hours to meet you." Sir John paced the small space the length of the foyer. "The wedding will be held here for your comfort and privacy, this is no small feet. News of your rescuing Georgia, the Frankensteins, and the De Laceys has made its way around the most important figures of our society." He ceased his pacing and came up to Rossignol. Sir John adjusted Rossignol's jacket to fit him better. In no time at all Gabriel's new friends acquired stately looking English clothes to align with that of his benefactors. When the Davenports arrived he would present himself in the cloak Signora Pausini made for him as it was the finest of all that he owned and carried too many memories to be cast off for aesthetics.

"Lord Adler," continued Sir John, "sent a letter to the Archduke of Canterbury after the death of his wife explaining what she did. He submitted the request that you be permitted to avoid a church wedding in favor of a private wedding. He has also sent Georgia a considerable sum of money."

"He means to buy her forgiveness?" Throughout his time in Venice, Rossignol had discovered that enough money could buy a person anything they so desired. He shunned the company of those who lived their lives around such promises. For Georgia, he would be pure. But then was he? He used money to make people see past his appearance, and it worked.

Sir John's face went stoic. "Of course, he does. But I have already taken the claim and put it to her name. Lord Adler is done with this family forever. It's not ideal, but the both of you are free to start your lives together."

Man truly did harbor such odd ideas of society and morality. Were it not for the goodliness of the De Laceys Rossignol wondered if he might have succumbed to the maligned view of the virtue of man. Although many felt the ends justified the means, there were those who strive every day to find better ways to treat each other. "What of Georgia's estate? Is it still contested?"

"Please, Sir John," came Georgia's voice as she rounded the wall at the foot of the stairs. "Is there news? Am I finished with the waiting?" Eva was no longer with her, but on the second level with her grandfather. Georgia handed Rossignol his mask and helped him secure it around his face. Sorrow crossed her beautiful face as she watched his face disappear beneath the pale gold mask.

"Lord Dunham will return with the Davenports with news. This is the best I can offer. Lord Adler withdrew his wife's request for a share, but you have several relatives still vying for the property. I am sure Lord William Daniels will inherit the house, I am sorry, Georgia."

Rossignol smiled beneath the mask. "I have a house for her. In the south of France. I. . . bought it for her. It is not so stately as this, but it is a fine home." His eyes fell on her once more as she drifted over to him. "We are eager only to be married and to leave these dreadful months behind us."

"Lord Worthington was arrested!" Declared Mrs. Davenport in the parlor. Her audience sat gathered around her with rapt attention. Georgia sat to one side of her while Lady Dunham sat on the other. Rossignol sat erect in a recliner a few feet from Georgia. "The town is in an uproar over it. Dear me, they found a body wrapped in a rug that he purchased. With his connection to the late Lady Adler, it has been determined that they were responsible for several murders."

Her face was flushed, and the hair that long ago shone golden blond was now a pinned up mass of disheveled grey. Mr. Davenport was a local vicar whose house resided on the property of Daniels' vacant estate. He, like many of the local clergymen, was being summoned into the city due to the recent increase of deaths. It was he who presided over the burial of Agatha who was buried in Georgia's family cemetery.

Grave was his countenance as he absently stroked his large eyebrows. For twelve years he devoted himself to the rectory and to his parishioners, and during his time as a vicar, he had never faced such death and cruelty. Like his wife, he felt great affinity and empathy for Georgia, and his one consolation to her would be to grant her a wedding deserving of such amiability.

"Miss Lynette Worthington," continued Mrs. Davenport, "has fled the city with some of her father's friends. I never realized that such distasteful people dwelt here. London, surely, but Southampton? Unheard of!" She looked to her husband for support, she was beyond her depth among such company.

"This city," he added, with a long draw in his voice, "has turned over, but in your aid, Miss Daniels. Your position in society has been restored from what we have been able to discern on your behalf. Your peers are quite respectful of your private wedding. You and Monsieur Rossignol are the heroes of this dreadful tale. Our Creator shines his blessing on you both."

At this Rossignol froze and felt his heart thunder. Had he finally achieved what he for so long desired? Was he accepted by man? By God? Had he done the impossible and accepted himself? He was gifted at birth— though unconventional, it was a birth— with a soul. His should was benevolent and loved, but he was full of repentance for his deeds, and a burning desire to atone for them. Upon hearing that he was counted among God's creations, though stitched together by the hands of man, lit the flames of hope that could now never be smothered. Where not all men created by men in the wombs of their equals? Wasn't the very miracle of a painful birth and the life brought forth a mercy granted by God?

"Monsieur Rossignol, have I said something wrong?" Asked Mr. Davenport with a look of horror. His snow white head whipped around to Georgia. "Have I said something wrong?"

Rossignol had gone rigid in his contemplations. Georgia observed him a moment before answering on his behalf. "Just the opposite, Mr. Davenport. Monsieur Rossignol has been through many trials during his life. Your words have touched him; he has, regrettably, not known such acceptance and love until now."

She knew his full, terrible story. Every detestable action that brought him to life was locked safely in her mind. With Rossignol only a few feet from her it would not have been too difficult to simply reach out to him, a physical declaration of support for what she already knew. Peace would between Rossignol and Frankenstein. There would be no revenge, no more pain, no anger. Their future was all that was left for them.

"Please, Mr. Davenport, forgive me." Georgia could hear his voice tremble. His masked gaze fell upon her, his eyes were watery from the tears threatening to spill out. "Truly, I am blessed. What more could a man hope for in this life? Miss Daniels has been my greatest blessing, if not an angel sent to make me a better man."

"I am honored, then, to be marrying the two of you. There is one other matter, Miss Daniels," stated Mr. Davenport. He then brought out a series of papers from a satchel sitting next to Sir John.

A cool breeze gently brushed them the collective anxiety of everyone in the parlor waiting to know what the papers held. Sir John, having looked through them when Mr. Davenport arrived, was more eager to know how Georgia would react.

"My estate has officially been settled then?" She asked. The fresh scent of soft pink roses brought in by the breeze did not ease her dread.

Mr. Davenport nodded but handed the papers to Rossignol. "English law dictates that your property passes to your husband."

Rossignol urged her to him and together they looked through the forms. Her wealth was a marvel, Rossignol had no idea just how much she had. Even with Adler's former claim, Georgia would have inherited a considerable amount of wealth. But as he read through the forms he realized she was wealthy to him but poor to her class. She would have been doomed to marry below her rank, and ironically, she was. His mysteriousness was what saved her in the eyes of her peers.

Her long fingers stroked the flesh of his hands as they worked to examine each document. Georgia would receive a substantial amount of furniture directly bequeathed to her from her father and relinquished by the cousin who inherited her former home. The furniture often stayed with the estates, but she was being gifted with all of her mother's belonging as well as the items she had used growing up. A writing desk belonging to her father now belonged to her. Two pianos were now in her possession along with several books about the history of England, including one detailing the rise of the Daniels family in the region and how their title was obtained. Despite her joy as seeing too many of her childhood belongings being restored to her— she had long ago given up hope of retaining the house— she felt sorrow at the money being left to her. For the remainder of her life, the money that was left to her would total fifteen hundred pounds a year. While her father lived they enjoyed an income of seven thousand pounds a year. Georgia fought hard to contain her bitterness.

"Georgia," interjected Sir John, "it isn't what you are accustomed to, but I believe Monsieur Rossignol has the means to provide you with a comfortable living."

Tears threatened to pour from her eyes, but she had an audience. On the other side of Mrs. Davenport, Georgia noticed Lady Dunham smiling. "Lady Catherine?"

"I know you are disappointed by what you are reading, but I cannot hold onto our secret any longer. Mrs. Davenport, you've lasted longer than I did, I suppose I will have to make up the loss in a game of cards with you and Nettie. Georgia, your dress has arrived."

She stood and took hold of Georgia's hands, they were soft and smooth, perfect for the silk dress Lady Catherine currently wore. "Come," she said, pulling Georgia along. Mrs. Davenport followed suit. "Monsieur Rossignol," Lady Catherine called, turning to the men briefly, "your wedding attire is here as well. Let me know what you think of the mask!" Three of them quickly disappeared into the house, leaving the men to mull over their mischief.


	24. Chapter 24

**Edit: I forgot to add the break in this chapter of where the steamy part starts. Sorry about that. It is fixed.**

The date was April 15th and it was a bright and joyous day. The great house of Rathstone Hall was decorated in lace and sheets of taffeta knotted in beautiful shapes. Light purple and pink Canterbury Bells were woven through the banisters, columns, statues, and anywhere they could be set out. Accompanying such blossoms were the enigmatic Eustoma flowers, Georgia's favorite, although she had not yet told Rossignol of this. He would replace her beloved snowdrops with the Eustoma and she could never allow that.

All of the thirty servants rushing around the property, both inside the house and out, wore snowdrops either tucked in their clothing or hair. As guests arrived, they were given a blossom and brought into the house where they conversed and gossiped amongst each other. The entire ground level of the Dunham's home was dedicated to receiving the sixty people they invited to the wedding. Seating was quickly gathered when it became known that nearly a hundred people had decided to come. Lord Dunham did not let this number effect him, he assumed one hundred twenty people would come to his estate. According to his calculations, sixty people would not have been invited, among them, thirty would have been welcomed; fifteen would have been tolerated— their standing amongst the gentry outside of Hampshire only aided them— while ten would likely be more embarrassed by their own insolence than anything else. The remaining five would have to be forcibly removed and later arrested for various crimes.

Their guests included several of Georgia's relatives, including her cousin William who now owned her childhood home; her great aunt, Beatrice; and her third cousin on her mother's side, Margaret Saville. Several friends, all of whom Georgia was never intimate with, stood gathered with their elders, each sharing the harrowing tales that culminated in this wondrous day. Monsieur Rossignol was a name whispered with awe and curiosity. He had thrown her a grand ball, inviting only the elite of Venice, they informed in blushing declarations.

Before Nettie helped spread the gossip, she made sure nothing of Amelia Rizzoli's death was mentioned. As far as they knew, Georgia announced a most splendid engagement and the city of Venice was in utter envy of Southampton. The lie spun went as such: due to Rossignol's elevated status among the Venetians, they demanded that he present himself before the courts of Venice solely because of his ability to sway the judge. This was the first tragedy that split Georgia from her wealthy beau. Just as the listeners drank in the story of a luxurious ball they were dismayed that Georgia had been called back to England just as Monsieur Rossignol was coming to claim his bride. He suffered the tumultuous weather of the English channel in the winter just to get to her, only to find that Georgia was taken by one of Lady Adler's wicked associates. By chance, Georgia's loyal servant found Rossignol and led him to where Georgia was being kept. He then faced Adler and saved two families just as she threatened to kill them. Did he kill Adler? Some asked. No, of course not! Came their answers. He was a gentleman, one of her deranged associates, in a fit of rage, finished her off, while a maid in her household spent months poisoning her.

Nettie, Mrs. Davenport, and Lady Catherine spun the tale well enough that it, and their embellishments, caught on like a wildfire. Rossignol was every bit the romantic hero the people of Hampshire wanted.

"Esteemed Ladies and Lords, please, follow me into the hall," called a servant dressed in a fine suit. He grinned to his eager audience, bowed, and then turned back the way he had come. Feet shuffled as the guests were eager to see the event they would spend the rest of their lives talking about.

The hall they were led to was large and the furniture that it previously housed was removed and replaced with pews from several chapels. On both sides of the pews, the first rows were blocked by servants who helped direct the over-eager crowd to their places. Once seated they continued chattering away enthusiastically. How fine and bright the room was! They declared in as quite a roar as the crowd could muster. They eagerly stole the flowers near them, tucking them into their pockets or their husband's pockets. It would all make for a great story.

Once they were all seated in their pews, the elderly Monsieur De Lacey, his granddaughter, and Georgia's well-known servant, Nettie, were seated in the front row of pews. When the Lord and Lady Dunham entered the hall, the attendees stood and offered polite bows. They were seated on the opposite side of the De Lacey's, with their own two small children seated next to them.

Finally, Mr. Davenport entered the hall, dressed in his white clergy robes; he stood at the front. "Monsieur Rossignol," he announced, extending his arm to beckon Rossignol forward.

The crowd gasped at the sight of Rossignol. He was tall, taller than they ever believed, but he was lean, and elegant. The black coattails he wore reached the back of the knees of his grey dress pants. Black, polished shoes gleamed in the midday light pouring in from the windows. Gloved hands rested at his waist while a silver mask watched the audience as he passed by them to stand next to Mr. Davenport. At the front of the room he stood motionless as he watched, was he as excited as they were?

Every pain and woe that life thrust upon him since his creation and birth culminated to this very moment. Images of the first terrifying moments of his life flashed before his eyes. Every sensation he felt anew: from the pain he felt in his first attempts to move, to the gnawing hunger of his angry belly, it was all so fresh in his mind. He recalled his first moments coming upon the De Lacey house, it was there that he learned to speak, and it was after they abandoned him that he was filled with bloodlust for revenge. But then he saw her.

Georgia stood at the other end of the hall with her arm secured around Sir John. The crowd stood and turned to watch her enter. Rossignol's breath hitch and his knees felt weak at the sight of her. Snowdrops were woven into her lace veil and the imprints of the flowers were embroidered into the light fabric stitched over her white dress. Light played over her russet curls pinned at the nape of her neck. She was beautiful.

Rossignol's heart beat furiously; Georgia's delicate gait brought her closer and closer to him. On her face was a smile that stretched wide, and in her eyes danced the shimmering of unshed tears of happiness. When, at last, she reached him, Sir John relinquished his hold on her and left her to stand before Mr. Davenport and next to Rossignol.

"My love," he whispered. Georgia took his hand, gloves separated the two of them.

Mr. Davenport's sermon fell on deaf ears as their minds, like their hands, were joined. He recited old sermons about love and matrimony, goodness and understanding, patience and compassion. As he spoke a neared the end of his sermon, Georgia and Rossignol kept their eyes fixed on each other.

"I do," muttered Rossignol.

"A little louder, Monsieur," teased Mr. Davenport.

Rossignol turned to the crowd, took a deep breath, and as loudly as he could, addressed them: "I take Georgia Penelope Daniels as my wife, this day, for as long as I draw breath. As God as my witness, I do."

Georgia wept as she made her own profession. His grip on her hand tightened before they both reached up to his mask. His hands held the mask while her hands untied the ribbon holding it to his head. Once it was loose, he lifted from his face, but he did not lower it. Instead, he turned the mask so that it faced their audience. Like faint buzzing, Rossignol could hear their guests protesting, each desiring to see the elusive Frenchman. But he was lost in Georgia's gaze. He was lost in her emerald eyes sparkling from a wave of tears slowly sliding down her freckled face. He was lost in her lips that parted to receive his own. Georgia's now gloveless hand reached to his face, her palm pressed against his cheek as she held his face.

Husband. That was his new title. Husband. All his dreams were realized, he loved and was loved in return. The beautiful wife whose sweet lips still pressed his was his to protect and cherish forever more. Their kiss ended and his mask was fixed once more against his face. They turned to faced their guests.

"Monsieur et Madame Rossignol!" Cried out Sir John. His declaration was met with cheers, no one was as emphatic as Nettie, who made such a shameless public display of her delight.

As the newly married couple made their way out of the hall they were met with smiles and tears, delicate gestures of gladness and delight. All was right in the world; good had triumphed over evil. Love came out victorious in a battle against hate. Life defeated death and the world was glad. At least, their world was glad.

Night settled over the cottage nestled in the foothills of an old Lafoy estate in Winchester, England. Sir John's gift the newlyweds was a handsome cottage with a blooming garden near the edge a forest just starting to reawaken from its winter slumber. Food was prepared for the couple and left with them, but their thoughts were far from the food that quickly turned cold. Their eyes were on each other, this would be their feast.

The suite prepared for them held a large four poster canopy bed with sheets smelling of gentle lavender. Georgia smelt the lavender acutely as she stood close to the bed with Rossignol towering over her. His mask lay on the floor where he carelessly tossed it, his face was inches from hers. Their noses nuzzled each other, bringing bashful smiles to their lips.

"Je t'aime, mon amour," whispered Rossignol before stealing her lips into a kiss. Georgia bit playfully at his lips while his hands moved up the lace of her gown to her hair. He pulled her veil away and cast it behind him. After more than a year of desiring to release her hair, he pulled all the pins restricting her hair and freed the russet tresses.

"Will you let me see you? All of you?" Her voice, like the skin across her chest, up her neck, and to her face, was flushed.

Rossignol pulled back just slightly but did not relinquish his hold on her. Mischief swirled in his watery blue eyes. "If you let me see all of you, my wife."

Georgia worked the ties at the front of her dress and shed the lace outer layer of her dress and let it fall on the bed. She removed nothing else on herself and instead began untying the cravat around Rossignol's neck. After continuously unwrapping the cravat, Georgia's efforts were finally rewarded when she saw the blotchy grey of his skin and the noose-like scar around his neck. She tugged on his coat to pull him closer to her and took her tongue across the raised flesh of his scar. Rossignol shuddered and gasped before moaning into the curls of her hair he was crushing between his fingers. Georgia kept her lips pressed against the flesh of his neck, gently biting on the skin so eager for her touch. Her hands then slid under his coat by his shoulders and forced the clothing off.

"Your dress, m-my love," Rossignol stuttered as his body struggled to understand what was happening to it.

Georgia's dress was tied along her back, but Rossignol was not interested in untying the dress. He grabbed onto the edges where the fabric met like lovers embracing. With ease, he ripped the fabric apart, utterly ruining the dress. The gown fell to the floor, lamenting its use and end. Rossignol pulled Georgia from his neck and instead, attacked hers. He bit and licked her neck to her shoulder mercilessly. She felt weak against him; what delightful feeling, he could render her immobile just by kissing her.

As his tongue torture her burning flesh, her hands moved to his white shirt. They snaked beneath the collar and followed down his shoulder blades. What her hands found surprised her, although, it wasn't unexpected. The tips of her fingers came into contact with the raised, crudely cut scar that ran along one of his shoulder blades. Flesh seemed to have grown over itself in an attempt to heal. Her hands stopped as they discerned the large shape of the scar. Rossignol was instantly brought out of his hazy desires. He was frozen in fear.

"Gabriel. . . ."

He would not move, except away from her before wrapping his arms around his frame. His actions cut at her, this was meant to be their happiest moment and suddenly it was unraveling before her eyes. A sudden thought popped into her mind. Without hesitating, Georgia quickly removed her undergarments, her breath was fast as she tore away layer after layer until she stood naked before him. Her heart thundered. There was no other feeling like this, she was powerful; she had never felt more desirable. Rossignol's eyes went wide as his arms dropped to his sides. He drank in the sight of her like a nectar too sweet and addicting to be ignored.

"Don't be afraid of me, Gabriel. Let me sooth your pain. Let me comfort you." She stretched her arms out to him, an echo of the day they shared their first kiss.

She was completely exposed to him and she was stunning. Her curls fell just above her swelling breasts; her body was finally returning to the shape it was almost a year ago. She stood nervously, waiting for him to move. Rossignol was ready, he felt calm but warm. Deftly, his hands worked to open his shirt before even that was cast away. It was then Georgia's turn to feast on him.

"Does is it hurt?" She asked. Her fingers trailed the scar that bisected his chest. She was delicate with him as if getting the chance to touch a masterpiece.

"Not anymore," he said. His voice was husky and his hands itched to touch her.

The very instant her lips touched the scar that bisected his torso he grabbed her and crushed her against him. Her body molded to his perfectly, or so he believed. Reaching around, he gripped her by her rear and hoist her up so that her legs wrapped around his torso. With her grip around him secured, he was free to explore chest. A moan escaped her as he squeezed the swollen flesh. He leaned in a took the beaded flesh of her nipple into her mouth. Oh, how sweet she tasted to him.

"P-please, Gabriel," she whimpered as her right hand rubbed the stitched scar that ran over his shoulder and ran down his shoulder blade. She pressed herself closer to him and shifted her hips so that the aching pain between her legs would ease and be satisfied. Supplications erupted into whimpers. She was rocking herself against the scar along his torso in an effort to grant herself relief.

Rossignol growled before dropping her onto the bed. He then let his pants fall, exposing himself completely to her. Her eyes watched him with awe, he was hers, a unique creature who would find his haven in her and she in him. Rossignol leaned over and took one more kiss before entering the warm, wet folds of her body. They moved and rocked together, crying in mutual joy and pleasure. Their breath mixed in desperate pants. Georgia's hands stroked the parts of him that she could as he moved in and out of her. She felt her desires grow wild and a hunger awoke in her she didn't know existed.

Gabriel watched her face and the expressions that it made with each thrust of his aching member. His fingers teased the sensitive flesh above her entrance. Each time she gasped, squirmed, and bucked under him, he knew he'd found the right spot. He had never believed himself capable of such actions, nor did he believe there would ever be a soul who enjoyed his touch. Here she was, an angel to him, offering sweet supplications for a release. He would grant it to her.

He felt his seed spill into her and delighted in the hope that a child would someday grow in her. His child. Beneath him, Georgia trembled in delight. A relieved sigh escaped her as Rossignol came to rest beside her. Their arms snaked around each other while her soft lips trailed kisses over the noose-like scar connecting his head to the rest of him.

"You're so beautiful," whispered Georgia.

He stopped and gazed down at her exhausted form. Perhaps it was the afterglow, she was too caught up in the emotions of what her body was feeling, even after making love with him, how could she find him beautiful? How could she love his misshapen body? How could—

"Stop that. Stop thinking. Just kiss me." She was a stunning sight to behold. Her damp hair clung to her face, but she still looked powerful and seductive.

They spent the remainder of their evening in their own lover's cocoon. They continued exploring each other's bodies well into the morning. Rossignol was content and loved. Finally, h marveled when the sound of his exhausted wife's snoring filled his ears, he obtained his only desire: to love and be loved. He would spend the rest of his life loving and being loved. This beauty would be one he would never smother.


	25. Epilogue

_18—_

 _M. Alfonse Frankenstein,_

 _Rossignol and I were very pleased to receive your letter. I am stunned that you found so many pieces for me to play— they've kept me rather busy!_

 _Eva's dresses fit her splendidly and should last her for quite some time. We are very grateful for these gifts and Eva loves them. The blue one is her favourite. To answer one of your many questions, she asks about you and Miss Elizabeth each time I receive a letter. It would be good of you both to write to her— when you are ready, of course._

 _As to her recovery: she has taken up writing and reading. She is a voracious reader, a little reading competition has sprung up between Rossignol and her. If we do not complete the library soon I am not sure where we shall keep the growing stack of novels. In regards to what she writes, I cannot know for she is very secretive and carries her journal almost everywhere she goes. Rousing he from her work to keep her active has proven to be a challenge. I am afraid Rossignol is the only person able to convince her to put down her pen. We do worry about this mannerism making her public debut difficult. The ostracization that comes with being perceived as being anti-social, or arrogant, is unfair to her. However, we are blessed not to live too close to town._

 _There is, sadly, not much opportunity for her to make friends or meet people. Only one other estate is nearby and it currently sits vacant. Several villages are nearby but the locals are quiet and rather shy of us. The major town is several miles away and if we have no business to attend there then we do not go._

 _Once a month the village holds a dance and it is there that she socializes the most. There are four girls several years older than she and three boys of various ages. The last dance boasted one hundred fifteen in attendance, the largest in many years. We are told that our presence is the cause of this and that more shall come with each passing month._

 _The town is fairly large, it is no Southampton. It has a population of about three thousand and it is from the town that we received most of our labourers. It is a beautiful town, just as the village was once lovely. There is an exquisite Frenchness about it with a mix of the Italian Mediterranean. Tomatoes are the prepared in every conceivable manner here and they are divine, Monsieur Frankenstein!_

 _Since our arrival, both the village and town have come back to life, like our dusty house, the stains of a dormant past are being cleared away. Rossignol has hired several craftsmen to help us with our house. We receive several visitors a day— many looking for work and many others just hoping to see our progress with the estate. Practicing my music and composing letters are about the only opportunity I have to sit and enjoy peace. It is quite different from my upbringing, but I am pleased to see our work yielding results.I have discovered that I have an aptitude for gardening and I have begun growing Snowdrops and lavender. By next year, we hope to grow our own crops and turn our home into an independent estate._

 _Which reminds me! I have not related the history of the estate like you asked, nor have I conveyed how Rossignol purchased it. I assume that you plan to purchase a house for Victor and Elizabeth?_

 _The estate was once known as Maison de la vallée and it belonged the Dechant family. Their home— our home— sustained considerable damage in a fire in 1743. Only the front part of the ground floor and the attic remained untouched by the flames as the fire was brought under control. So far we have restored the kitchen and several rooms on the ground floor. The upper levels are in a dreadful state, but the floors, which were replaced by the family who briefly occupied the house some thirty years prior, are sturdy and I have begun exploring the rest of our home. I have discovered a trunk full of old letters and books belonging to the previous family. I hope to have time soon to read them._

 _Most of the property was left to ruin and we have slowly begun reclaiming it. Rossignol remains active in Venice, but our home has taken a toll on him both financially and physically._

 _I am gla_ _d you inquired after him. He has confessed and has given me consent to reveal his mind on these tragedies. At first, Rossignol did not understand the depth of his crime of killing William. Please, read all that I write before passing your judgment on him._

 _Before the death of William, he had never beheld the lifeless body of a person— he had no understanding of its finality since his life began with the violation of this law. His goal_ _—_ _and I do not shy from the repulsion I feel regarding this confession, was to hurt Victor. He believed that he was justified in this cruel blow. His fury is unrivaled, but with_ _love,_ _it is tamed and utilized beneficially._

 _Shifting the guilt of murder to Justine was the source of a rather painful argument. Of his crimes, this is his most baseless wickedness— even now it infuriates me and well, it breaks his heart. I love him so much that I find these confessions unsettling, it is as if I am meeting someone else._

 _He has described, in near perfect detail, what has already been related to me by your family. The way he speaks of Justine, I might almost believe him to be in love with her. If he could take back his deeds, he would, in an instant. It is his sincerest wish that you find some comfort in this._

 _I also wish to inform you, Monsieur Frankenstein, that he built a memorial for them in my garden. I think he plans to do more to honor their memory, but for now, let this bring you solace._

 _Truthfully, I hadn't planned to ever speak with Victor or about him, but Rossignol desires a reconciliation— a peace between them. He carries the weight of his deeds heavily, but he does not carry these alone. I will not press upon Victor's misdeeds as they have caused so much anguish for you and Elizabeth, but they both share the guilt for terrible crimes and they are both wretched because of this._

 _At present, I cannot face Victor and neither can Eva, no matter how much she adores you and Elizabeth. My husband, however, would desire a peaceful meeting with Victor and with you, should you desire it. This is not what you wanted to hear since I know you blame yourself, but don't. None of this is your fault._

 _Please know that I wish us to remain amicable and familiar. I eagerly await your next letter._

 _Your Friend_ _,_

 _Georgia P. Rossignol_

"Do you want to read it?" Georgia asked after gently blowing the ink dry on the paper. She turned in her chair and held out the pages for Rossignol to take.

He lay stretched on their bed with his hand supporting his head. Light from the candles spaced throughout their room danced across his blotchy skin. His loose white shirt hung open, exposing the noose-like scar around his neck and the scar that ran the length of his abdomen. He declined, but extended his hand out to Georgia, beckoning her to their bed. "You wrote about me. About our argument."

"Yes," she replied. "How did you know?"

A smile appeared on his lips, exposing his straight, pearly white teeth. "You have a specific look when you think about it. Your nose scrunches up, your lips purse, your left eyebrow moves inwards, but not your right one. Tension fills your arms and your back hunches just slightly."

She gaped at him. "Curious."

"I always know what you're thinking."

Georgia felt guilty for still feeling so angry. The man he was now was not the man he was then, reconciling the two was the hardest aspect of forgiveness. Mentioning the crime filled her with anguish, but the look he expressed in his watery eyes forced her feelings to soften.

Once the ink dried on all of the pages, Georgia folded up the notes and sealed them shut. She blew out the candles upon her desk. As she stood, the fabric of her night dress rested loosely around her form. Rossignol observed her with hazy eyes, he was perfectly languid laying across the bed. Georgia lifted one leg onto the bed and leaned close to her husband. He was enchanting.

Long fingers reached out to Frankenstein's creation and traced his scars. As she worked her way down his chest she exposed more of it by opening his shirt further. He, in turn, reached out to caress the supple flesh upon her chest.

"You know I love you, Gabriel?" she asked.

His smile grew as he continued caressing her. Georgia, however, ceased her gentle strokes and reached up for the scar running along his hairline. It looked less angry than it had the first time she saw it. The skin was less bumpy as her fingers passed over it. They were one soul, they always would be, just as they were always meant to be.

Georgia kissed the scar, his forehead, both cheeks, and then she pulled the lips that persisted in smiling to her lips. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, mumbling as she tasted him.

"I know. _Je t'aime, mon per neige._ " He kissed her in return. "My snowdrop."

 **The End.**

 **A/N: Well, thank you so much for reading all the way to the end! I want to thank everyone who gave me a review! Those mean the world to me. I know I have a bad habit of not publically thanking you and publically replying to those reviews, I will for the next story. This was the final post for "Snowdrop", and I really hoped you all enjoyed. Please don't hesitate to correct me on mistakes or tell me what you liked or didn't like.**

 **Also, check out some other Frankenstein stories. There are quite a few other very talented writers on here just waiting for you to read their work. Write a Frankenstein story! I cannot get enough. If you decide to write one, I want to read it!**

 **Check back in August to see the final story about our beloved Rossignol and Georgia. I am not sure how often I will post, but there will be a chapter in August.**

 **Thank you so much! 3**

 **Check out my Loki story "The Slave", intended for a mature audience.**

 **~Khadija**


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